


Kaffeeklatsch

by FadedSepia



Category: Jessica Jones (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Crush, Claire Temple is So Done, Coffee, Dumpster Jessica Jones, F/F, Frank Discussions of Hookups, Jessica Jones is So Overwhelmed, Just So Much Coffee, Meet Stupid, Self-Directed Sapphic Panic, Self-Doubt, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, The Author Regrets Nothing, meet awful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:08:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 37,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28179612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FadedSepia/pseuds/FadedSepia
Summary: ☕☕☕Jessica Jones knows that she’s garbage at a lot of things, romantic relationships included. Still, she’s not absolutely terrible atallrelationships, something she’s trying to prove by expanding her circle of friends; she started with the rest of theDefenders,but it won’t hurt to get to know at least onenormalishperson, and Claire Temple fits the bill. As Jess takes time back from active work with the team, trying to keep her life and her business affairs in order, she and Claire strike up a friendship based on coffee, snark, and dishing dirt on nighttime vigilantes in their city. In the midst of dealing with spillover from the night time work they’re still regularly called to help with, Jess realizes that, even if they have become friends, maybe she doesn’t want them to bejustfriends.☕☕☕
Relationships: Background Clint Barton/Matt Murdock/Steve Rogers, Jessica Jones & Danny Rand, Jessica Jones & Matt Murdock, Jessica Jones & Steve Rogers, Jessica Jones/Claire Temple, Luke Cage & Jessica Jones, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 14
Collections: Marvel Big Bang 2020





	1. AKA Roast

**Author's Note:**

> ☕☕☕
> 
> [All chapter art is by the wonderful ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sdiosb)[**sdiosb**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sdiosb), who you may also find in the words themselves along with their art. [Please pop over to their posting to leave them all of the compliments they deserve](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28153815/chapters/68984655).
> 
> Many thanks to the Marvel Big Bang Mods for their support, but most especially to [weepingnaiad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weepingnaiad), the best beta-reader and long-distance fandom auntie anyone could ask for.
> 
> And, of course, thank you to [USSFriendship](https://archiveofourown.org/users/USSFriendship/pseuds/USSFriendship) for playing in this world-building sandbox with me. You can find their story [_People as Places as People_ here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28178970/chapters/69049488). 
> 
> ☕☕☕

☕

Jess has already killed most of the current pitcher; at this point, she’s really just waiting to make sure the guys are cleared to go home without someone to sit on them to make them rest. _Fuck it,_ she’s really only waiting to make sure they’re upright and can string a few words together. _Assholes can sleep it off;_ that’s sure as hell what she’ll be doing, if they ever show up.

Matt’s the first one through the door, red lenses swapped for aviators that do a little more to hide the bruise just blooming on his cheek. Danny is nipping at his heels – still a fount of bubbly energy even as the clock trips its way towards two a.m. – somehow keeping a spring in his step despite how slowly he’s actually walking towards the back-of-house booth. Jess slides out, letting Luke settle into the corner. Slump, really; neither of them had much issue tonight, but Luke was running on fumes before shit got started, and he’s pretty much dead on his feet.

Jessica elbows him – gently, kinda – and asks, “All done with your check-ups?”

“We did not get yelled at, but only because I think Claire still likes Danny,” quips Matt, and Luke grumbles out something approximating agreement.

“Good deal.” She pushes the appetizer plate in front of the man to her right and slides the second pitcher towards Matt; Luke really _shouldn’t_ be drinking tonight, and Danny always looks a little shocked when she offers anything that isn’t violence.

They nibble in near-silence until the food is gone, and – as the least injured and the most pleasantly toasted – Jess takes it on herself to walk over to the bar and order more junk. Tots and nachos don’t take long to make. Really, saying _make_ is her act of charity for the night; the tater-tots are scooped from a giant fry basket in the kitchen, and the _nachos_ are really just easy-cheese, salsa, and bacon bits on chips. Still, beer and crap food is how they end most of these nights, and that’s fine with her. This is the kind of shit people do with coworkers after work, even _if_ their work is always weird as fuck.

Though, with two of the three giving her the side-eye when she gets back to the booth, Jess isn’t entirely sure she wants to keep this little thing up. She drops back onto the bench seat next to Luke, shoving a handful of fried potatoes into her mouth, ignoring them as best she can.

Not, _of course,_ that Murdock gives her all that much time before asking, “So how long is this going to be a thing?”

Jess hears the question, but she doesn’t know how the fuck Matt expects her to answer; her mouth is full of half-chewed tater tot, and she doesn’t really know what he’s talking about.

Is he asking about the janky team-up the four of them have stumbled into? She has no idea how long _that’s_ going to last. Hopefully long enough to actually do some more good, since they’re stuck together, but probably only until Luke gets sick of being the only adult in the room and leaves. Or until she and Danny butt heads again; Jess isn’t stupid enough to go at him physically, but _verbally_ is another question.

Maybe Matt’s talking about their meeting up for food and drinks in this divey hole-in-the-wall after their _work_ is finished for the night? That would be a simple answer, one even Jessica Jones can phrase to sound hoity-toity as hell. This will continue, _in perpetuity,_ for as long as they keep up that first thing with the team. She and Luke aren’t ninjas or yogis – or whatever the fuck Danny is – they need to _eat_ to heal. Which, technically, Matt does as well, but he _is_ such a _heel_ that _he’ll_ never admit it. He will, however, point out that coke-and-vodka counts as calories, but not food, and _that_ is going to put a swift end to these little meetings if he keeps it up.

Jess can _barely_ tolerate his company when he _isn’t_ being a snarky, self-sacrificing little shit.

That’s all she can think of, but the mind of Matt Murdock works in mysterious ways – when it works _at all_ – and she knows she’s better off just asking, “How long is _what_ going to be a thing, Red?”

Matt’s brow furrows above his frames. “The _thing_ between you and Claire that keeps you from ever getting a look over after we’re done.”

“What thing? There is no _thing.”_

“I would hazard to call it _beef,_ but I’m with Murdock.” Luke leans forward, hands clasped on the table in front of him, chin tipped her way. “I want to know what’s up between you two.”

“What _is?”_ Jess isn’t in the mood for this, but there’s a way to keep the heat off herself. She smiles as unpleasantly as she can, talking to Matt, but with eyes on Luke. “Or _who was?”_

The two men share their respective perplexed frowns – Luke’s eyebrows rising as Matt tilts his head sharply to the side – before the latter hazards to speak. “This is about _that?”_

“Oh, for shit’s sake. No, it isn’t – fuck, I can’t even joke with you two – just…” Jessica rolls her eyes, head dipping to rest on her arm as she nearly lets her forehead smack onto the table. They’ve been over this before, but, _of course,_ they _would_ take her seriously the one time she brings it up to be a shit. Yeah, there is the weirdness of having fucked the same guys, but hookups happen, and – unless they involve _her participation_ – Jessica Jones gives zero fucks about where, how, or with whom. She takes a deep breath and shoves herself upright to sitting. “Get over yourselves!” She glares at Luke and Matt in turn. “You’re a great lay, and you’re the Kitchen bicycle, and Claire and I do not _have beef,_ _especially_ not over _either_ of you.”

“Um… Excuse me, Luke, but were you two together before, er… I mean…?” The rambled question catches all of them off guard as Danny fidgets with a tater-tot in his corner of the booth.

Somehow, they keep forgetting that he was living in a magic monastery until last year; the kid is new. Well, the _kid_ is probably her age, but he’s new to the streets, never mind the gutters in which the rest of them so frequently wind up. “Yeah, but it doesn’t matter since she dumped him. I mean, she dated and dumped them _both_ , if you want to get technical."

“Oh, that’s sad; she seems so _patient.”_ Danny Rand smiles like a man untroubled by any earthly cares… or like someone incredibly, _dangerously,_ high. At _all_ times. “Is that why you don’t like her, Jessica?”

“I don’t _know_ her.”

Matt raises his hand and opens his mouth, but she cuts him off.

“Not in any real personal sense, definitely not in any _biblical_ sense, and everyone at this table knows how much I just _love_ doctors, so…” If Jess has any sort of _beef,_ it’s with Temple’s work, not with the woman herself. _So,_ if they’re smart, the guys will let this drop right the fuck now. “Just because I don’t want to be all chummy with her doesn’t mean we’re in the middle of a fucking _thing._ Shit-! Just lay off.”

Of course, Jessica knows better, knows they’re idiots and assholes, but something – her words or her glare or the glassy crack as her hand clenches on her beer – ends that conversation thread. She finishes her drink, mug _thunking_ upside-down on the table in challenge. When none of them rises to it, she drops her cash and leaves. Jessica Jones has an early morning tomorrow, and – on every level – she’s exhausted.

☕ ☕ ☕

It’s an accident – a fluke of fate or fortune or fuck-all – that she runs into Claire the next Monday morning. Jessica’s current non-powered job is an easy one – taking pictures for an insurance claim scam someone dragged first to _Murdock and Nelson_ before getting handed off to _Alias_ – but it makes for early mornings after her late nights, and she’ll be the first to admit she’s been hobbling along on a heavily-fortified caffeine crutch. Jessica’s running on empty when the call goes up at the counter – “ _Double dead-eye and doughnut!”_ – and Jess reaches without thinking, only to look down and see that her gloved hand is laying over someone else’s.

“Good morning, Ms. Jones.” She can’t tell if those hazel eyes are amused or annoyed, and – damn – Claire Temple’s voice gives _nothing_ away. “This is mine… unless you got the blueberry?”

“ _Double dead-eye and doughnut!”_ echoes _far_ too close to her ear, and Jessica fights the urge to slug the barista before she snatches up her _actual_ breakfast. “Sorry, this one’s mine, I guess.”

“You _guess_ about your coffee every time, or is this morning special?”

“Fucking hell. I _guess_ somebody _never_ makes mistakes.” She can’t afford to cause a scene and get kicked out of _another_ coffee shop – this might be a big city, but word gets around and she wants at least one viable place within walking distance of her apartment – so Jessica takes her cruller and her coffee and heads for the door. She’s just about pushed past the crowd clustered at the entryway when a hand grabs her elbow.

“Hey, look; I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped like that.”

“Ya think?!” Not like she’s doing all that much better, yelling at the woman as she muscles through the doorway.

Claire keeps pace, and keeps hold of her arm, tugging as she nods to one of the tables outside. “Seriously, Jessica; I _am_ sorry… Let me explain, and I’ll get you another coffee?”

“You’ll-” Jessica’s brain catches up to her mouth just in time to shut it. Free coffee is _free coffee,_ and it’s not like she has any pressing business in need of her attention at this _exact_ minute.

“Fine.” She drops into the frigid metal chair at the table that should probably not still be outside this far into the winter, crossed ankles resting on the rail that divides the outdoor section from the rest of the sidewalk. “So what’s got your scrubs up your snatch this morning, _Nurse Temple?”_

Claire grimaces, but doesnt answer, won’t meet her eyes, instead staring down at the lid of her cup like it holds some deep secret of the universe. Maybe she and Rand can start a navel-gazing club. “The shift from fr-… from _graveyard_ to mids is never _pleasant.”_

“That’s it?”

Huffing through her nose, Claire Temple shakes her head. “It _should’ve been,_ but I overstayed my last shift by an hour because our favourite little punk in pyjamas decided to swing by.”

 _Oh… Oh, fuck!_ None of them were on Spidey-watch last night because it was Sunday, and, “Doesn’t that kid have a curfew?”

“One would _think_ …” Claire trails off, eyes rolling heavenward for a moment before she leans back, coffee in hand. “He apologized – _profusely_ – but that doesn’t get me my sleep back.”

“Maybe we can sic Danny on him; he likes to be _helpful.”_

“If it keeps the kid out of _my_ ER, it _might_ help.” Claire sighs softly as they eat. “Glad I ran into one of you, though. Could you maybe spread the word around that the usual _night nurse_ isn’t on duty after dark for a while?”

“Like that’ll stop them.” _Nothing_ short of death is likely to keep any of them from getting fucked up on the regular, and even mortality isn’t _exactly_ a guarantee. Jess tries her hardest to avoid that sort of trouble; she knows for damn sure that her friends will find all the danger they want with the way they go looking for it. “But – hey – now we’re not your problem, right?”

Claire sucks in a deep breath, forehead tipping into palm before she sighs. “That… doesn’t make me feel all that much better.”

“Not much I can do about that.” Jess shrugs, popping the lid off her cup and chugging it at a go. It’s just cool enough that she doesn’t burn her mouth, but with enough warmth to clear away some of the chill that’s seeped into her cheeks while they’ve been sitting. She tips her empty cup to the woman across from her, knowing she’s probably grinning like a shit, but not really caring. “But get me that coffee, and I promise to get the word out to anyone that’ll stop chasing death long enough to listen.”

What rumbles out of Claire Temple’s throat can only be described as a growl, but she pushes back from the table, standing and walking toward the coffeeshop door.

Jess follows, chucking her cup into the trashcan as she trails the other woman back inside. Free coffee is _free coffee,_ after all.

☕ ☕ ☕

Does Claire want a Jessica Jones at her coffee spot every day? Because – _apparently_ – it’s a simple task to get Jess at that coffee shop _every day;_ or, at least, near enough that even she will admit it’s gone from fluke to freaky, and is slowly slipping into regular routine.

It didn’t _start_ on purpose; the place just makes the best dead-eyes around. Jess would be stupid not to come here. It’s _especially_ good when she has work in the morning, and it’s fucking fantastic when a late night means her early morning catches her before she ever makes it to her bed.

That’s ignoring the fact that – for the first week anyway – Jess gets a free laugh in the morning by getting the drop on Temple in the line. But, really, what did she expect keeping the same schedule like clockwork? Lots of people work nine to five or midnight to eight or whatever, but not too many of them walk the same three blocks in the same cut of clothing to order the same damn thing at _her_ same fucking coffee shop-! _Every. Single. Morning._

Or, well, not anyone else that she can fuck with like Claire Temple.

At this point, Jess doesn’t even have to look for her. Sometimes she doesn’t even need to be _in_ the shop, as long as she’s there around nine-thirty, since Claire has to clock in at eleven and they usually have a lot to go over. The screech or bellow of each order carries over every other sound in the place, sometimes every other sound in the _street;_ Jessica Jones is listening for “ _Dead-eye and doughnut!”_ anyway, so even that takes minimal effort. If it’s Jess’ order, then great; she has her coffee and her breakfast, and she’s fine to wait. If it’s not Jess’ order, even better; Claire Temple in need of coffee is a petulant, sleep-cranky baby, and it’s way too easy to mess with her as she grabs for the cup. Not that Jess runs away with it into the street – more than once – or starts drinking it – only to tell Claire that she should have gotten there sooner – because Jess isn’t an asshole, and- Yeah, fuck it, she knows she is, but she’s gotta get her kicks where she can find them.

It’s not like she can’t make up for it when she goes too far though, right? A simple question – “ _Anyone order a dead-eye and blueberry doughnut?”_ – lets her know if she’s made it there first. Jess can just double the order and wait outside, which, yeah, is easier sometimes. Keeps her out of the crowd, and gets the conversation going sooner so she can get it over and done with.

Because, really, that’s what this is about, after all; she has to keep Claire in the loop in case the nurse ever manages her way back onto nights. Yeah, it’s a little weird, considering, but it would probably be more awkward if it was Luke or Matt meeting her, and Danny in the morning is not something anyone should have to handle. Claire is alright, if only for coffee and complaints. They might be working toward being friends, but they’re still friends from _work,_ and too many of those _friendships_ have come back to bite Jess on her _fell out a damn window at four a.m._ ass for her to completely trust them.

She’s just come off the weekend from hell – hasn’t given their resident medical professional an update since Thursday night – and she’s late for the check-in today. Jess pushes her way to the counter, dropping her order just in time to hear the call go out.

“ _Double dead-eye and doughnut!”_

It’s a mean kind of morning, and maybe Jess knows she _shouldn’t,_ but knowing better rarely stops her from doing worse. By the time Claire makes it through the crush – stupidly not using her elbows to push the other folks in the place to the side – Jessica has already gotten in a few sips of coffee and eaten half of her doughnut. Her mouth is full as she nods at the woman glaring her way from the side of the line, words muffled by fried cake. “Morn’klair.”

“Bitch, I was in the _bathroom!”_ Claire snatches her half doughnut back, shoving it directly into her mouth as she makes a grab for her paper cup.

“Not my problem we get the same thing.” Jess’ order is called, the shout echoing in her ear, and fuck if Claire doesn’t tear the bag open and cram a good half of Jessica’s doughnut into her mouth, too.

She looks ridiculous, and Jessica Jones just _cannot_ keep herself from blurting out, “You auditioning to be the new _Squirrel Girl,_ C.T.?”

Claire Temple blinks, stamps her foot, throws the mangled half of _Jessica’s_ doughnut back into her face, and, well…

Jessica Jones loses her shit, choking back a peal of laughter to snort into her sleeve right there at the counter. There’s a beat before Claire’s joining in with her, giggles still muffled by doughnut crumbs.

The crowd hasn’t thinned one damn bit. The barista is staring at them like he’s never seen a human before, let alone a _happy_ one.

That puts a lid on any of the joy of the moment, and Jess straightens, chin tipping up as she stares the man down. “Fuck’s your problem? You got some issue with _friends_ in this place?”

“You’re, uh… holding up the line?”

Clearly, this man doesn’t realize that he was lucky to this point because Jessica Jones’ default setting is _BITCH._ “You haven’t even _called_ another order, so maybe don’t blame me for not doing your _only_ job, assh-!”

“Sorry, she’s working a swing shift; thank you!” Claire’s hand is on her wrist, and there’s no question how Temple’s managed to keep up with all the powered people in this city, not with the way she’s physically yanking Jess along, through the crowd and out the door.

“What was that guy’s problem?” Jessica yanks the lid off of her cup, chugging as they walk.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Claire’s elbow jabs into her ribs. “ _Maybe_ it’s because _somebody_ threw a tantrum in the pickup line?”

The elbow to her ribs doesn’t help when she’s trying to drink and walk _and_ argue, and she swallows wrong, choking for a second; Jess sets her coffee on the ground as she crouches to catch her breath. “Well, if _somebody else_ hadn’t eaten both our breakfasts, and then _made me laugh-”_

“Oh.” Claire’s stopped a yard ahead, turned around with one hand on her hip, the other clenched on her cup. There’s something about her – the set to her jaw or the cant of her brows – that’s even more accusatory than her words. “So that is _my_ fault?”

“Yeah, maybe it is.” It _isn’t,_ Jessica _knows_ it isn’t – not this morning, anyway – but this little back and forth of theirs has been going on for a month, so she’s not wrong in arguing that this is just payback for Claire buying three doughnuts last week, last cruller included. “So what? Gonna do something about it, _Nurse Temple?”_

It’s a fucking joke. It’s _supposed_ to be one, anyway; something to make Jess laugh, and – yeah – maybe to get Claire to rise to the bait, but that’s what they do. They drink coffee, bitch about their so-called _friends,_ and give each other shit. Or, well, that’s what Jessica expected them to do this morning. That’s the kind of reaction she’s ready for; a “ _Fuck you,”_ a well timed double bird, or maybe a shoulder punch. She isn’t prepared to see Claire turn on her heel, stomp away, lean against a light post, then slump into a slide that drops her lower to the ground, until she’s nearly sitting in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Oh… Oh, fuck…” Coffee abandoned, Jess scoots across the small span of cement between them. “Claire, hey-?”

The other woman flinches back from her tentative pat, sucking in a wet gasp and forcing herself to her feet. Still turned away, Claire scrubs her eyes with her sleeve, walking on without a word.

Jessica scrambles to throw their cups into a trash bin and catch up with her. “Hey, what the hell’s wrong with you?”

“Yes, because, of course, it’s _always me that’s wrong,_ isn’t it?!” Claire doesn’t stop moving, but the crosswalk signal isn’t exactly going to bend to her will, and – _Damnit!_ – now Jess is basically running to snatch her out of the flow of traffic and dump her back on the sidewalk.

Her hands are on Claire’s shoulders, and she might be shouting. “What that actual fuck, Claire?!”

“You’re an asshole, Jessica Jones.” Claire Temple speaks with a sniffled finality.

“Yeah, I mean…” She’s not _wrong,_ not by a long shot, but Jess can’t think of anything she’s done – beyond anything she _normally does_ – that would have earned her this whole melt-down scream-fest thing. “I _can be,_ but-”

Jessica cuts herself off as Claire tips forward into her, arms looping around her back above her waist, _hugging her_ as the other woman sniffles. “But it’s not fucking _fair,_ and you’re a _bitch,_ and-”

 _And_ Jessica Jones has had enough breakdowns over the years to recognize someone else in the middle of one. In the middle of the day. In the middle of the _street._ God- _fucking-_ damnit. “Come on, Claire; let’s not do this out here.”

“We can go, uh- Sit down, okay?” Her apartment is only a block or so away; Claire has at least been tantruming in the right direction. Jessica extricates herself from the slumped hug, arm looping around Claire’s shoulders, as much to keep her upright as moving forward.

Claire nods dazedly as they rush across the same intersection where she nearly got hit moments earlier. “Where- What happened to the coffee?”

“Coffee’s at my place.” Coffee and bourbon and enough ambien to put a horse under; whatever Jess has to use to keep Claire Temple in one place until she calms the hell down.

☕

Jessice nods to Malcolm on her way up the hall, grateful that he’s smart enough to avoid trouble when he sees it, slipping out of the office and back to his own apartment. They can open an hour late; Gillian won’t be in until ten, anyway.

She bustles Claire through her door and over to that hideous orange couch. Jessica pushes her to sit with terse instructions – “Stay here.” – and heads back to her closet-sized kitchen to start a pot of coffee. She’s digging through her fridge for something that isn’t alcoholic or microwaveable when the apologies start.

“Oh, crap… Oh, crap, Jessica, I-! I should _not_ have yelled at you over… Damn, I ought to just-” There’s a shuffle, Claire picking her bag up off the floor and the soft tread of her work-safe shoes on the hardwood. “I’ll let myself out.”

“Sit down before I sit you down!” _Damnit!_ Temple’s got no right to bitch about people not taking care of themselves if she can’t even recognize she’s basically in the middle of a meltdown _._ Jessica doesn’t mean to slam the cabinet door, but the hinges hold, so it doesn’t matter. She grabs the decorative serving tray that Mrs. Walker dumped on her as a housewarming gift – smug bitch – the same one that Jess never thought she’d use, but it’ll work for her purposes today. Everything she needs fits on it; cream, icecream, irish cream, coffee liqueur. Oh, and – _fuck_ – yeah, the whole pot of coffee and the sugar bowl and two enamel-coated mugs. _Perfect._ “If you’re not out there, I’m kicking your ass, Temple.”

Claire is perched on her client chair when Jessica walks in, one brow quirked in judgement like she wasn’t just hauled up here half-coherent. “Not a very _heroic_ statement.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve established that I am clearly _not_ a hero…” Jess nods to the tray dominated by alcohol that she’s just set on the low table between them. “... and I’m not all that big on _heroic_ behaviour, either, so…”

“I don’t know about that.” Claire grabs a mug and begins filling it… starting with the irish cream, then the ice cream, _then_ the coffee.

_Huh._

Claire Temple smiles sadly as she lifts her enameled mug in the tiniest of salutes – “My kind of hero today.” – and chugs.

It’s… Well, Jessica isn’t sure whether she’s feeling complimented or not, but it’s bad luck to refuse a toast. She hasn’t had time to even make herself a _regular_ cup of coffee; she opts for a quick pour of the Irish cream. “To your kind of heroes?”

The woman in her hideous orange chair snorts. “Yup!”

“Heh.” The moment drifts back to silence near-instantaneously; Claire looking for answers in her mug while Jessica makes a real coffee, one with only a _splash_ of flavoured liqueur, the barest dribble of milk, and a heaping scoop of ice cream. By her standards, it’s practically a soft drink. She sips, eyes on the window for long enough that the mood blows right past socially awkward to _downright painful._ Jess finally slips off her jacket and stretches her arms out along the back of the couch. “So… what got you needing day-drinking heroics, Ms. Responsible Medical Professional?”

“Work.” Clair refills her mug without further explanation. She doesn’t chug it this time.

“Seriously, you flipped out in a coffee shop, which – okay – at any given time, a third of any coffee place is just people in tears; employees, patrons, fucking delivery people.” Jessica’s held out as long as she could – Claire has finished half of her second cup – but Jess just can’t seem to keep herself silent. “Everyone cries in coffee shops. Hell, _I_ have cried in at least two, and I only ever really go to like, three? Five, tops. Which I guess is why there are so many, because they really are the only safe crying space in public… There and maybe train stations. Fucking train stations.”

The woman in the opposite chair hasn’t moved during Jess’ ramble, other than to let her eyes drop to once again stare into her cup.

Jessica clears her throat, poking Claire’s calf with her boot. “But you were _actually_ losing it in the street, so…”

“So what?”

“So _maybe_ explain why I basically had to carry your half-catatonic ass into my goddamn office.” Now is the time to let her boots thunk up onto the table, for Jess to snatch her phone from the cushion to confirm before she continues. “And maybe why you – _you,_ of all people – needed that much alcohol at nine forty-nine in the morning.”

Claire sets her mug down with a resolute _thunk._ “It was a rough shift yesterday, Ms. Jones.”

“Yeah, no shit.” _Great._ She hasn’t been _Ms. Jones_ in at least three weeks, but apparently being _concerned_ has thrown her right back to the beginning. “Look, I am trying to be slightly less crap at this, so; what made it rough?” It comes out sounding more _angry thug_ than _concerned friend._ Jessica leans forward, arms resting on her knees, trying for _approachable buddy,_ or – at minimum – _slightly smaller, less threatening thug._ “I mean, if you wanna tell me, or whatever.”

“Or whatever.” Claire mirrors her posture, setting her mug aside and resting her forehead in her palm. “But I… at least owe you an explanation for my little…”

“Freak out?”

“ _Moment.”_ Temple clears her throat, head doing a shimmying little nod before she finally meets Jessica’s eyes. “I had _guests_ yesterday.”

 _Guests._ More than one of them; never a good thing. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Daniel dropped in, and that wasn’t so bad, but then someone dumped a _marine_ at our staff entrance.” Claire’s lips are pressed thin as she gives that a moment to sink in. “I’m guessing you didn’t have any hand in _that,_ huh?”

She honestly can’t recall the last time anyone _mentioned_ Frank Castle; most speculation that came her way was that he was _dead,_ and Jessica sure as shit hadn’t seen him last night. “Yeah, no, not me.”

“Didn’t think so. I’d put money on Matt or the kid, but…” She shrugs, biting the corner of her lip as she sighs. “Anyway, that was how the shift _ended,_ but they’d had me on _intake-”_

Jess knows nearly nothing about what Claire does, though she’s learned that intake is a pain in the ass, and that children can mysteriously fit everything imaginable up their noses. Jessica nods in a way she hopes is commiserate. “Uh-huh.”

“- which was hell. And then I found out I’m off today and back on nights next week, but-” Claire cuts herself off abruptly, snatching her coffee, like the only way to shut herself up is drinking.

Jessica usually finds it has the opposite effect, but – _fuck it_ – whatever. “And nights _are_ a bad thing, right?” That certainly seems like the implication. Which makes sense considering that Claire effectively _met_ all of them working the ER after dark.

“Well, first, I got pissed because they- A lot of my _coworkers,”_ she spits the word like it tastes foul, “refer to third shift as-”

 _Oh!_ Jess knows this one. “Graveyard?”

Claire’s brows drop as she shakes her head. “Because of all the _enhanced_ that drift in after dark, they call it _freak watch.”_

Distasteful it might be, but, on the whole, it kind of makes sense. For the most part, all the regular-ish powered people that Jessica knows – the non- _Avenging,_ non-sanctioned ones, who maybe don’t have access to or don’t want to _use_ more _specialized_ medical care – end up in hospitals at the most awkward hours they can manage. Even she hasn’t been in a hospital during regular visiting hours since she lost her spleen… and the actual stabbing that got her there _happened in the middle of the night,_ anyway. So, yeah, maybe it’s not the _nicest_ phrase for it, but, “That’s not really the _wrong_ thing to call it.”

“You guys are not _freaks.”_

Now it’s Jessica’s turn to stare because, “What the ever-loving fuck, Claire; have you _met_ us?!” Running through her mental rolodex – and feeling old as shit for even calling it _that_ – Jessica Jones can count on all of three fingers how many _normal_ humans she works with outside of her business partner and office manager – or would even consider work-adjacent acquaintances – if she excludes the woman currently in her living room. Two of those people work with Murdock, and Jess knows for sure that Karen Page has at least _killed_ somebody. She doubts Nelson’s done so, but would anyone believe it if he had? Eric is kind of useless in a fight, but he _is_ powered _._ The only non-enhanced guy out _working_ that she runs into on the regular is Hawkeye, and he’s squeaking by on the technicality of being a human raised by carnies; he’s not _technically_ enhanced, but he’s definitely counted among the _freaks_ , and he’s only not an _Avenger_ when he decides he doesn’t want to be. Effectively, “None of us is fucking normal, so-”

“That doesn’t mean you’re _freaks!”_ Claire slams her cup onto the coffee table, flushed and livid.

Jessica reaches for the mug, prying it from her grip. Claire _really shouldn’t_ be allowed to drink anything else. Plus, Jess has a point to make; shame, too, because she really liked having a matching set of cups, even if they were regifts from one of Patsy’s fans. She sculls the last of Claire Temple’s barely coffee. Locking eyes with the woman sitting in the chair that divides her living room from her office, Jessica Jones clenches her hand. It only takes a moment – this enamel-ware stuff is pretty heavy duty, but it’s still thin – the porcelain-coated steel buckles and gives, crumpling in her hand like a cheap soda can. “Maybe not all of us, but at least _some.”_

Claire still looks like she wants to argue; she opts for a petulant, “I was _drinking_ that,” to which Jess responds with her least enthused shrug.

“Look, do you want me to try and intervene or whatever? Send all my fellow _freaks-”_ The vein at Claire’s temple jumps at that word, and, _no,_ Jessica is not laughing at her own dad-joke over it – “to some other hospital? Maybe Saint Mary’s?”

“Pretty sure siccing the devil on nuns earns you a ticket straight to hell, Jones.”

“Maybe, but Murdock does enough of that on his own…” Jessica sets the mangled mug back on the tray. “So if us being called _freaks_ is the _first_ thing, what the hell is the second?”

Claire takes a deep breath, pushing back a loose of hair curl behind her ear. “You.”

“Me?” Reflexively pointing to herself, Jessica feels her stomach drop as Claire nods. _Crap._ She considers asking what she did, realizing she will have to ask what _specifically_ it was that she did to set off _this_ incident; the list of _kind of very shitty_ things Jess has done an any given day is usually too long to remember, and some of them are bound to have rubbed Claire the wrong way. The most recent one seems like a good place to start. “Look, yeah, I’m an asshole, but – hey – freak watch means no more coffee pranks, right?”

Because it _was_ meant to be a prank, not to set off this whole wibble fest that Claire now has going on across from her. Which has just been made worse by her words; her scrub-clad friend nods, the trembling of her lower lip stuttering her words. “I know… I know, and that’s the problem.”

“Right, no more stolen coffee, so…” She doesn’t know what to do. She really does not know how to deal with any of _this_ – isn’t a therapist and only barely talked to hers when it was mandated – and Jessica is at a loss as to whether she should _try_ to do something or just call somebody, and – really, the list of people that she knows that Claire _also_ knows is the pretty much the same as the list of people she’s fucked that Claire _has also_ fucked – so who the hell would she be calling, anyway? _Damnit!_ Slowly, not wanting to somehow make this _even worse,_ Jess reaches to rest a hand on the other woman’s knee. “So what did I do?”

“It’s not what you did, Jones.” Claire sniffles, almost snorting, taking a deep breath and scrubbing at her eyes with one hand. The other settles over Jessica’s just long enough to squeeze her fingers. Claire sits up a little straighter in the chair, and Jess can practically see the nurse rebuilding her composure piece by piece as she speaks. “It’s that you _get_ it; the nights, the drama, all the _fucking bullshit_ that gets dragged everywhere because of-” She pauses, lips pressing into a tight little frown. “- because of what you guys do, and…”

Jessica doesn’t point out that – at the moment – all she _does_ is come in to assist in emergencies and do the nightly dumpster checks to make sure nobody else wakes up in a trash barge on the Hudson again, but… that can wait. She tries, gently, to coax Claire to keep talking. “ _And?”_

“And I’m going to miss having a… a friend to hash all this out with, even if she _is_ a fucking asshole.” Claire Temple nods sharply, then opens her mouth to add, “And a coffee thief.”

So they _are_ friends. That’s good, maybe, sort of explains some of the upset when paired with the forced shift in routine, but… _Oh, shit._ It can’t be that stupid, can it? “Claire… You got moved to graveyard, right? That’s until eight, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And what time is it _right now?”_

Claire squints at the watch on her wrist and answers, “Nine fifty-seven.”

Jessica Jones closes her eyes and takes a deep breath in through her nose. Holds it for a five count. Releases it in little puffs through her mouth. Makes a mental note to tell Rand his relaxation technique is a load of hot garbage.

When she blinks her eyes open again, she can feel her face dropping into a perturbed scowl, one she hopes is getting across how pointless the last twenty minutes have been because, “How does a schedule shift screw up our coffee mornings, Claire? Or did it not occur to you that we can get coffee earlier and _after_ your shift instead of _before?”_

“But…” Claire’s still wide-eyed and lost looking. “But I’ll have to sleep after I get off work, and-”

This is probably the second – maybe the third – most ridiculous non-argument Jess has ever taken part in, and she’s ending it right the hell now. “Was this morning so bad that you forgot that decaf is _a thing_ that _exists?”_

“And did you also forget that one of the few perks of being self-employed is that _I_ can sleep – or work or _have coffee_ – pretty much whenever I _want_ to?” There are exceptions to that rule, but Gillian and Malcom are _mostly_ okay with schedule changes, and they’re not even in every day.

“I- yes, I mean, no, but…” It’s a strange thing, watching her connect dots, watching the light of _duh!_ dawn behind Claire Temple’s eyes. “Oh…”

Jess has earned the coffee liqueur pouring its way into her still very much intact mug. “Yup.”

They sit for a good five minutes – Jessica drinking her coffee and wearing her biggest shit-eating grin, Claire looking at everything in the apartment except Jess’ face – before either of them speaks.

The nurse in her client chair shrugs, finally making eye contact. “Decaf might exist, but it’s not really all that good. What the hell is a decaf dead-eye worth, anyway?”

“Then get tea or something.” Not that tea is anything close to the godsend that is a hot cup of sludge, but it’s at least warm. “Besides, ’s not like you can put a price on good company, right, _Nurse Temple?”_

“I dunno… _Is_ there _good_ company around here, _Ms. Jones?”_

Jessica raises her mug… and her middle finger.

In the hideous orange chair that splits her living room from her office, Claire Temple bends over her knees in a fit of rasping laughter.

☕ ☕ ☕


	2. AKA Grind

☕

“Tired?” It seems like a reasonable question, given that Claire finds Jessica face down at the cafe table, two cups of coffee in front of her as she slowly becomes one with the stainless steel table-top.

“I hung out with Jamie last night,” mumbles Jess, lifting her head just enough to turn and face Claire as she pushes her coffee closer. “We were out stupid late.”

“Oh?” It’s not a name she’s heard come up in their conversations before, but it’s not like she’s keeping tabs on Jessica outside of these little check-ins. Yes, maybe they have officially crossed the line into friend territory; that hardly means she knows all – or even most – of what Jess does the rest of the time, or with whom. “Glad to know you have other people to hang out with besides me, Malcolm, and your _crew._ Or that you’ve managed to not to scare off every person you’ve met.”

Jessica presses one palm to the table, pushing herself upright as she lifts a single finger on her other hand. Her grin is acidic as she snips back, “I do _have friends,_ and we do stuff. Jamie and I meet for bagels, and I have a standing movie night twice a month with- Stagger.”

“ _Stagger?_ That’s somebody’s name? Somebody I’ll _assume_ you met at a bar. _Or in a fight.”_ Claire can’t imagine how _else_ anybody would get that name.

“No!” Frowning, Jess turns away with a huff and takes a long sip from her coffee. But – predictably – it’s only a few moments later that she nods, near-petulant as she admits, “I mean – yeah – I was _bringing drinks_ to a- a houseparty when I met him, and he, uh, gets in a lot of fights – so it kinda fits – but that’s not why I call him that.”

It’s the most Jessica explanation to ever Jones, and Claire isn’t sure what she should have expected. As it is, she has to laugh because otherwise she just might snap and ask Jess how the hell trainwrecks seem to find each other so easily. Really, what Claire ends up asking is only marginally better. “Are you friends with anyone whose first instinct _isn’t_ to punch away their problems?”

“Um… well, yeah; you.” Jess seems to realize she’s only supporting Claire’s point, scrambling to drop a few other names. “And Malcolm and Gillian. Um… Acosta?”

“Cops don’t count. And neither does anyone you only met because of your job.” That isn’t entirely fair; pretty much all of Claire’s friends _are_ work acquaintances that grew into being friends, or people she met accidentally through her unsanctioned second job. _But, unlike Jessica,_ Claire is friendly. Friend _lier._ Significantly less likely to punch people than Jess, or – really – than a surprising number of people she’s kept up with in the past few years, and-

“Then Jamie counts!” Jessica’s exclamation snaps her back to the moment. “Clint introduced us; I met him through work, but not Jamie.”

“Loophole.” Claire can admit to deserving that particular bird, but Jess’ answer has piqued her curiosity. Clint isn’t an uncommon name, but they run in the same circles – far too often, in the same _circle_ – so she has to ask, “Is your _Clint_ the same guy as Matt’s _Clinton?”_

“Yeah…”

“I see.” She shouldn’t be hurt over it – not more than she has been over all the other secrets that have piled up between them since they met – but part of Claire is upset that _Jessica_ met one of Matt’s boyfriends before she did. He’s been keeping this whole romantic endeavour so close to his chest, which isn’t out of character for him- _Although,_ Jess did just say she knew Clinton through work, so _maybe_ Matt has his reasons. Then again, that thought’s hardly doing anything to ease Claire’s concerns; she has bad taste, but Matt Murdock treads the line of completely tasteless. Propping her chin on her hand, Claire nudges at Jessica’s elbow. “What do you think of him?”

“He’s kind of – alright he’s _very much_ – a trashimal, but he’s a decent guy.” Whatever Jess _isn’t_ saying, she’s trying to paper it over with a smile. “Reliable.”

“That’s good.” It’s concerning. _Reliable_ is something you use to describe an old truck. _Or backup._ Claire pushes the thought aside; there’s hope for the other one. “And Steven?”

Jessica is far too nonchalant in her reply. “I’ve only punched him once.”

“You punched Matt’s new boyfriend?!” _Fuck,_ now people are staring at them, and Claire needs to sit back down, but her panic is wholly warranted. She has _seen_ what happens to people Jessica knocks down; knows a little too well that a lot of them don’t – most often _can’t_ – get back up. “ _Why_ did you _punch_ him, Jessica?”

“It was before they were dating. He, uh- He startled me.” Honestly, that is not the lamest reason Jess has ever offered for what anyone else would rightly call assault; sometimes Claire seriously doubts her taste in friends, but at least Jessica’s being honest. She even sounds a little remorseful as she continues, “I mean – yeah – I broke his nose, but it was just a tap, really.”

“It would have to be…” If nothing else, it would have to make Steven more than reasonably sturdy; that would make the two of them sturdy and reliable, and, well, anyone could do worse than that in a boyfriend. “So Jamie; your-non work friend?”

“Yeah, we hang out sometimes. Sometimes he brings his girlfriend, so, that’s two people right there-”

“Two whole non-work friends.” Claire lifts her coffee mug in a tiny salute. “Colour me impressed.”

Jessica’s already flipped her off this morning; this time, she opts for pushing further away from the table. Arms crossed over her chest, Jess leans in a pouting slump across the aluminium chair. “You make it sound like I have no life outside of my job.”

“I mean…” Claire smirks. “… _do_ you?”

It’s a valid question. As many updates as she might get about Jessica’s nightly activities – as well as about Matt and Danny, and the occasional bit Luke deigns to share – Claire knows very little about what her morning coffee buddy does outside of her office. Jess might send her a plethora of links to boots, but never anything beyond that surface level. Really, Claire has to wonder if Jess does anything except work, _work,_ and join her for the occasional cup of coffee. She hopes she doesn’t sound too judgmental in asking, “When was the last time you went out?”

“Out?”

“Yeah, you know… _Out.”_

Jessica Jones scoffs; loudly, sounding like she’s choking on her own exasperation as she rolls her eyes. Her elbows knock into the table as she pitches forward, voice dropping in time with her brows. “With _who?”_

“I dunno.” There have been _a lot_ that Jess has mentioned, though none recently. “What about Eric?”

“Hit and quit, and then I lost my _spleen,_ so…” Jessica Jones rolls her eyes. “No thanks.”

“Malcolm?”

“Hard no; strictly professional.”

“Acosta?”

“You clearly haven’t met him, and no… and eww. I need brain bleach now.” The woman across from her pushes back even further, reaching down to pull a tiny flask from the inside of a boot. Jess’s smirk is still a little forced as she wiggles the little bottle in Claire’s face. “Or bourbon. That works, right?”

“At nine in the morning?” Okay; _now_ Claire sounds like she’s judging.

“I’m still toeing the line between _drunk_ and _lush…”_ Jessica palms the flask, opting to slip it into the inner pocket of her jacket one-handed, raising her other in mock surrender. “But, sure, fine, I’ll just let _that_ image stay in my brain.”

Jessica sighs down over her mug, then turns to watch the foot traffic as the conversation lapses.

Claire finishes her coffee during the silence that follows. With Jessica, it’s difficult to distinguish exasperation from boredom from silent seething; she hasn’t left – or _stormed out_ – so maybe that’s a good thing. _Maybe_ this is because she intervened with Jess’ _brain bleach,_ as opposed to the _actual_ topic of their conversation. And, maybe, Claire is going to push a little further, just because she really, “Thought you got around more. I mean, not like _that_ but-”

“It’s alright.” Jessica’s gaze is still fixed out the window as she replies. “I mean, you’re not _wrong;_ guess I’m just in the middle of a dry spell.”

“So no one?”

“Nothing for a little _while.”_

Well _that_ at least sounds interesting. “Spill?”

“How far back am I _supposed to go?”_

“I dunno.” Claire’s too busy wondering how _extensive_ this list is to do much past shrugging. “Past year or two?”

“It’s not like you don’t already know that it’s just hookups.” Jess turns back to her, face carefully blank as she waits. It isn’t long before she realizes that Claire is expecting a better answer than that; her cheeks puff in exasperation, but she nods. Jessica takes a sip of her coffee. “Fine, okay, so… Um, this guy from Josie’s, Matt, Eric, this other guy from Viola’s, Jace – who was living proof you should never bring home a guy who calls you _hot lips_ – An _drew_ or, uh, An _dy,_ this _bartender_ at this New Year’s party – total creep, but like, he had good hair – and, huh… yeah, that’s it.”

_“‘Dry spell,’_ she says.” Claire would count herself lucky to get _a_ date in a year with the way her work sucks up her time, let alone eight. Not, of course, that she’s counting, or really even paying that much attention after that second name. “Wait; you also said Matt. Did you mean _Matt_ Matt? _Our_ Matt?”

“Yeah. Once... ish.”

“Ish?”

“Mutual low point, and then – ya know- everything in the city got _weird_ for a while… Honestly, it kinda isn’t even worth mentioning, but sometimes we give each other shit for it. Just probably better you knew, anyway, so…” Jessica Jones turns away, once more fixing her resting glare on the passerby. “Yeah, anyway, just trying to not be such a fuck-up, so; dry spell on all fronts lately.”

“You just pulled bourbon out of your _boot._ ” It’s hardly the best thing to say to an arguably much improved heavy drinker, and Claire instantly regrets it.

Jess doesn’t seem to have taken offense to it, not any more than she seems offended by the existence of other people in general. “Dry _ish_ spell. And what about you, huh?”

Claire will be the first to admit that, “I have bad taste.”

“Yeah, ya do,” Jessica is a bit too quick to agree.

It might be try that every time she’s tried _adventurous_ in the past few years, it’s meant months of _life-threateningly dangerous,_ but that doesn’t mean Claire Temple has to be happy about that swift confirmation. “We have _nearly the same_ taste, Jess.”

“I sample more… but I also have _awful taste,_ so…”

“You do fine. I mean, there aren’t that many guys who…” Claire feels herself trailing off, not sure exactly how to finish that sentence. There aren’t that many _guys who have powers?_ _Guys who would fuck a powered woman? Guys who wouldn’t be rightly-terrified of Jessica Jones?_ Claire shakes her head, resettling her thoughts as she reaches for her coffee. It’s something to consider, but at the same time nothing she ever thought she’d have to think about. “Is it weird how it’s _not weird_ talking to you about this?”

“Everything is weird.” Having nearly reached the end of her cup of coffee, Jessica pops the lid off to empty it. “I spent last night running away from a green lunatic on a hoverboard; nothing is _not_ weird.”

“I didn’t think you were doing that these days.”

“Neither did I.”

As much as she might really _not_ want to know, Claire is still curious. She and Jess shared more than a few close call horror stories about the _sanctioned_ powered people that call their city home. Jessica usually tends more toward griping than outright complaining, but their conversations would hardly support her volunteering to _work_ with anyone outside of Danny, Luke, or Matt. Even her interactions with the spider-child seem to be based mostly on concern that he’s a minor making a mess in her backyard. Although, with how Matt seems to have been roped into more legitimate vigilantism – if there _is_ such a thing – it’s only mildly surprising that Jessica would fall into it, too, and Claire can’t help but ask, “So, what, are you official now? Getting all buddy-buddy with the _Avengers?”_

“No-!” A few eyes slide their way at Jess’ aborted shout; slamming her hands into the table and standing into a looming hunch don’t make her any _less_ noticeable. She takes a moment to scowl back at a few of the onlookers as she sits. Still leant over the table, Jessica’s voice is a surly, embarrassed hiss. “So, like, I’ve _met_ a few of them, but I don’t really- I mean, I met _one,_ but that was mostly by _mistake?”_

“So… Hawkeye?”

“Yeah, and he kinda dragged me to meet a few of the others?”

There aren’t many people that could _drag_ Jessica anywhere; three that Claire can think of, but one that comes to mind most quickly. “Did you finally meet Captain America?”

“Yup.” Jessica smiles and takes a bite of her long-neglected doughnut. “And then I clocked him.”

“You’re… are you serious, you punched-! You punched _Captain America?”_ Claire whisper shouts over her coffee.

“I didn’t _plan_ to-”

“How do you _accidentally_ punch a guy like _that?”_ Between the height, the voice, the unreasonably perfect teeth, and running around in that _outfit,_ he’s probably the most recognizable _Avenger_ next to _IronMan._ Claire can’t imagine knocking into him on the street by accident, let alone mistakenly _slugging_ him. “Do you just _punch_ people when you first meet them?”

“Stops all the awkward introductions,” deadpans Jessica, maintaining that blank face long enough that Claire almost starts to believe it might be true. Jess looses an overly dramatic sigh. “Of course, I don’t do that. Besides, the guy’s kind of weird; I pretty much broke his nose, and he laughed about it.”

Well… What else is there for Claire to say? Aside from some expression of gratitude that her introduction to Jessica Jones involved raising voices instead of fists, but, “On _that_ note, I am going to try to sleep.”

“Cool. I’ve got a new client meeting at nine, anyway.”

“Good luck; I hope it goes well, but maybe try to keep your hands to yourself?”

☕☕☕

Beyond the comfort of having _one stable routine_ to mark the passage of the stuttering madness that seems to be her life at the moment, Claire finds real comfort in finally having a friend that is as _over_ all of this heroic garbage as she is. Claire is constantly in it but not of it – well, _no longer of it_ – herself, at least as far as actual vigilantism goes, and Jessica gets it, understands her frustration about all the bullshit posturing and team crap and constant secrecy.

That is _the single_ hardest part about most of this; Claire’s more than used to confidentiality, but even she could only hold onto her sanity so long as things were. This shit seems to run in cycles, and getting off of nights for a while was doing her more good than she’d thought, keeping her out of the fray – the bits that don’t show up on her doorstep, anyway – and giving her the chance to see the city, and other people, in the daylight. She’s not dumb enough to assume bad things only come at night, but Claire feels a hell of a lot better able to manage that crap when she can actually _see_ it once in a while.

That might have ended with her shift change, but it’s easier to manage with Jessica Jones as her… buffer? This whole team thing can be a little nightmarish, but Jess’ updates over coffee go a long way to freeing Claire from the personal responsibility of checking up on her powered regulars. Between the four of them, there’s usually something approximating one responsible adult, or at least enough people left standing at the end of the night to haul in the injured.

Though it isn’t all bad, either; like their conversation about the _First Avenger,_ a lot of it is really, really stupid, too. With Jessica there, Claire can share in the joy of laughing over all of that, at Matt’s chivalrous idiocy, Danny’s doe-eyed naivete, Luke’s grumbling, almost paternalistic aggravated concern, Jessica’s _everything is a problem_ outlook. The gabbing is usually over breakfast, although they’ve reached a point where – if she misses a morning – Claire can sometimes catch up with Jess after she wakes up for dinner; Jessica will drink coffee pretty much whenever, and, with her reputation, nobody’s casually dropping by her roof. Those nights are rarer, but still pretty fun, the two of them eating take-out and sitting on the tar paper, watching the skyline, sometimes catching a glimpse of someone else at work out in the city.

Something that she can hopefully do _another_ day, one when she _isn’t_ tearing ass up the sidewalk and into the staff entrance.

☕☕☕

“Claire… Claire… C.T., hey!”

The back of a gloved hand slaps against her shoulder, and Claire Temple startles up from her lean on the table. “Yeah?” She nods to the woman scowling across the high-top at her. “How does who fret the dead?”

“I said ‘How about you get to bed?’” Jessica rolls her eyes, sliding her long-emptied mug back and forth between her hands on the polished table-top. “Seriously, that is the third time you’ve fallen asleep on me this morning.”

“Yeah, I know; I’m sorry.” Usually she’s better about adjusting; she’s spent almost three weeks on graveyard, but her sleep schedule is still fucked all to hell. “It’s the time-change. I’ll be good next week.”

“Oh, huh… I guess that would do it.” Her tablemate nods, and Claire laments that Jessica Jones seems completely unaffected by their recent spring forward. Not that Jess looks particularly good – she’s as frazzled and unkempt as always, lipgloss and eyeliner barely smoothing her rough edges – but at least she looks like she’s gotten more than half a night’s sleep within the last forty-eight hours.

Claire? Not so much, on either count, and she’s curious almost to the point of being perturbed as she asks, “How does this daylight savings crap not screw with your schedule?”

“I just ignore it.”

“You-” She’s cut off by a yawn, but struggles back to asking, “You _just ignore it?”_

“Well, yeah.” Jess shrugs like she’s given a clear if concise answer. After a few seconds of silence, she finally offers a more thorough explanation. “I mean, I can adjust slowly, but my hours are weird. A lot of my work is whenever I want, or on other people’s time, so… Yeah, I don’t really notice the shift.”

“Lucky you.” Damn lucky to be able to make her own schedule. The same sort of _schedule_ that lets her meet Claire here after all the _nope o’clock_ shenanigans of the morning. “ _I notice_ your schedule doesn’t seem to overlap with some of our _friends_ so often these days. No more punching national landmarks? You quitting the gig?”

“I never _wanted_ the gig.” Her sigh is long-suffering. “Unlike _some_ people, I’m not looking for… meaning or-” Jess eddies the air with her hand. “-ya know, _whatever._ But, yeah, I think I’ve reached an agreement with the rest of the _night shift.”_

There’s such a tiny amount of emphasis placed on those words when weighed against the gravity of what they encompass; it would be hilarious if it wasn’t often still so unbelievably terrifying for Claire to think about; she works with actual, bonafide _superhumans._ Super _heroes,_ she might argue, but it’s an argument she’s fairly certain she’d lose, one way or another. Still, it’s humbling, and mildly unsettling, to look across the table and remember that the woman sporting a beat-up leather jacket and well-worn boots could hoist her one-handed. _Possibly by accident,_ given what Claire’s seen of Jessica’s _abilities._ Which – without question – were used in some way to settle whatever _agreement_ she and the rest of their little vigilante brigade have come to.

Claire gulps another mouthful of decaf latte. She doesn’t bother tamping down the cruel amusement seeping into her words. “Can I take it that’s the explanation for Red _and_ Loxely showing up covered in paint and-”

“Shit? I mean, it happened because I told them I couldn’t tag along on messy jobs, yeah.” Jess shakes her head with a chuckle. “Just didn’t think it would lead to _that_ kind of mess.”

“I feel almost bad for him.” In the first place because – for once – _Matt_ had been the worst disaster she had surreptitiously seen that morning. Usually, if they came in together, it was Hawkeye who looked – or _smelled_ – worse. “I can’t imagine what the stench is like for him.”

“Probably like shit.” There’s a beat before Jess starts laughing, reaching across to tap Claire in the arm again. “And, look, they bring it on themselves.”

“Unlike you?”

“I don’t chase after trouble.” She jabs a finger at the air in front of her before poking herself in the chest. “It _finds_ me… but it usually pays well.” Jess nudges an elbow into the outside of Claire’s arm before slumping forward into her usual lean. “Besides, things’ll settle down by the weekend once Cap’s back in the city.”

“So he’s _Cap,_ now?” That’s less than surprising; if there was a ledger of people who could start a friendship with their fists, Jessica Jones would be on it. Her attempt at reassurance still falls pretty flat, though. If there is any pattern to the ebb and flow of incidents in this city, it’s probably seasonal at best. “And nothing’s going to _settle down_ because every one of them is a magnet for crazy.”

“Yeah… it’s a pain in the ass knowing people sometimes.”

“Heard that.” Claire has kept hoping that being on call as backup for, or at the very least getting friendly with, the _Avengers_ – honest to God _sanctioned national heroes_ – might, if not _settle_ Jess and Matt, at least prompt her mutual friends to be a touch less flippant about their self-preservation. Unfortunately, all that it’s done is add more people in masks to her list of _people who show up on the doorstep bleeding._ Last time, it meant treating _Hawkeye_ and _Daredevil_ while _Captain America_ alternated between taciturnly pissy and profusely apologetic; the _Avengers_ have sent her _three_ apology fruit baskets on their teammates’ behalf just this year, and it’s barely March. “There might be some produce coming to you, in that case.”

“Not a problem.” Jessica nods briskly before her face drops. She reaches into her pocket, phone now vibrating in her grip. She taps the screen and tucks it away, looking darn-near apologetic. “But, hey, speaking of other people’s time, I’m about to get paid to waste it. See you tomorrow?”

Claire shakes her head _no._ She’s been on a long run of days, but she can say with certainty that, “I’m off until next Thursday.”

“Cool, Thursday, then-! Well, _next_ Thursday!” Mug dropped in the dish bin as she goes, Jessica jogs out of the coffee shop, throwing a lazy wave behind her.

☕☕☕

As things fall out, Claire doesn’t get _tomorrow_ off. First, there’s an _incident;_ Thursday, _an event._ By the end of it, two Thursdays pass, Claire’s seen more _people in suits_ tromping through asking questions than patients, and she’s fairly certain that her caffeine stream is down to maybe twenty-percent blood. She doesn’t care which genius or mystic or _whatever_ is responsible, if Claire Temple sees one more damn portal – in the sky, or on a building, or in the subway, or _wherever_ – she’s going to lose what little grip she still has on her sanity and just-!

It doesn’t matter; she’s home now. _For now,_ until something else happens. Well, something _else_ else. An assload of _else_ is always happening, and now that she’s got an ear in the loop again, Claire almost wishes she didn’t.

The number of _just so you know_ texts she gets from Jess concerning chatter or incidents – recent and sometimes in progress – is almost obnoxious. Or it might be if Jessica didn’t intersperse her regular update messages with pictures of sad-stupid cats, grumpy wet owls that Jess inexplicably labels _G-Man Pip_ , and boots. Picture after picture of black leather boots. Boots that could _actually_ be fashionable, if she paired them with things besides denim, dirt, and other people’s blood.

The whole thing is just another one of Jessica Jones’ weird little quirks: She’s constantly trashing out her then current boots and buying new pairs, but never _good_ pairs _because_ she’s always trashing them out. And, despite going through so many, Claire doesn’t think Jess has ever owned more than two pairs at any given time. It’s kind of funny, and also-

Her phone vibrates across the vanity. Claire barely manages to snatch it up before it skitters over the edge. The messages include a short question – _[you coming]_ – and a few brief instructions – _[bring your own if vodkas a no], [also a coat if you get cold i dont know act like youre going for a walk or whatever]_ – that leave her chuckling. Jessica might not have given her much to go on as far as what tonight’s _kinda cool thing_ entails, but it can’t be anything too serious; for Jess punctuation is optional for all but the most important matters.

Claire has a windbreaker and shoes that are both comfortable _and_ fashionable, along with a half-size bottle of rum tucked into her bag, down under her knife and emergency kit. She might not know what’s coming – tonight or _any_ night – but she’s as prepared as she reasonably can be. With Jess, there’s no telling where they might end up, regardless of whatever unshared plans exist for the evening. Claire grabs her keys off the table, pockets her phone, and heads out.

☕

“This is fucking crazy.” Claire rests her freshly-filled cup atop the brickwork.

Beside her, Jessica chuckles down into her definitely-not-filled-with-water bottle. “All the shit we see every-damn-day, and a movie in an alley is what you pick to call _crazy?”_

“Shut up!” She claps her free hand over her mouth, voice far louder than she means it to be. Maybe that second glass was a bad idea, but Jessica unloaded a backpack of chilled mixers once they got up here, and there was mango juice. Anyone that could say no to mango juice would have to be someone much more resolute than Claire Temple, but they’d also be having way less fun right now. Claire pulls her hand away to wave it at Jess as she speaks, “I can’t believe I didn’t know about this, that’s all. Or that _you_ would even come… to something _like this.”_

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Jess hip checks her, leaning over the edge as she takes a long drink from the nalgene that absolutely _isn’t_ full of vodka and seven-up _._ “I’m not who you think of when someone says ‘classic silent movies?’”

“Oh, fuck, no!” tumbles out before she can stop it, and Claire freezes, staring at the woman to her left.

Jessica frowns, mouth twisting down, lips pulling in… before her cheeks lift and she _snorts,_ tiny grunted sounds bleeding into full laughter as she leans further forward. Scrunched brown eyes tip up at Claire; Jessica Jones _snerks_ and cuffs at her elbow.

Claire finally clues in to the fact that they’re _both_ giggling now, laughing like drunks – and _she definitely is drunk_ – snickering on this roof at the edge of spring. It’s so fucking ridiculous. She’s five stories up with one of the most dangerous people that she’s ever met, already buzzed and getting more hammered by the second, watching a film thrown up on an abandoned warehouse wall, and Claire is having the best time she’s had in months. Maybe in a whole year. Her phone hasn’t rung once, and she can admit she’d be reticent to answer it if it did. _Whatever._ It’s in her bag, while her drink is in her hand; clearly, she has her priorities in order. She clicks her plastic tumbler against Jess’ water bottle and takes another drink.

Jessica’s snickers quiet as she asks, “Okay, so maybe it _is_ kinda crazy, but it’s fun, right?”

“ _So_ fun.” Claire means what she says, this is a great time, but she’s still curious, still has to wonder, “But – seriously – _how did_ you find this place?”

She doesn’t think her words or tone were out of line, but Jessica’s entire posture changes at that question. She cuts her eyes downward, head waggling in a dismissive combination of shrug and nod, lip tucking between her teeth as she turns away. Claire is left facing Jessica’s back as she answers, usually brash voice low, almost lost. “Trish and I used to come up here.”

_Oh, damn._ The suits might have tried to keep a lid on it, but the tabloids had already been eating up the _mysterious exit_ of Patricia Walker, and that was _months_ before whatever happened with her and Jeri Hogarth that brought another round of _people in suits._ Claire doesn’t know all of the details – doesn’t want to ask when she might not want to know – but she’s gleaned enough to feel badly for dragging this to the surface, enough to unthinkingly rest a hand on Jessica’s shoulder and step closer.

Jessica tenses, but turns back around, uncharacteristically gentle as she pushes Claire’s hand from her arm. “Look, it’s whatever, right? Shit happens,” might be what Jess says, but she’s still standing there like she’s in pain, hunched in on herself and arms crossed low. She can put up all the fronts she wants to; when she doesn’t pull out of the tentative hug, Jessica is pretty clearly admitting that the truth of _shit happening_ doesn’t mean she’s okay with it.

Claire isn’t going to push her luck; they’re friends, but Jessica generally _is_ the cut-and-dry cynic she likes to be seen as, and dragging up her complications isn’t why they came out tonight. She gives Jess a brief squeeze and steps back. This time, it’s Claire that turns away, if only to give the impression that she’s watching the movie on the wall instead of the woman slowly composing herself in Claire’s periphery.

Jess resettles beside her after another sip and a few rough scrubs of her sweatshirt hood across her eyes. “Sorry about that.”

“You don’t need to be. Shit happens, but it still sucks.”

“Thanks for not freaking out about me…”

“About you being sad?” Now it’s Claire that gets to look down, if only for a moment to push back the scowl tugging at her mouth. “Yeah; one, it’s not a problem, and two… I see _way worse_ freak outs than that on the daily, and over stupid crap, so don’t worry about it.”

Were she anyone else, Claire would loop her arm behind Jess’ back for another half hug, but she knows full well that – excepting for special circumstances – few of her enhanced friends are very accepting of affection. She opts for tilting to her left, just close enough that their shoulders brush. Claire stays silent as the minutes drag by, and makes sure to change the subject by asking, “Did you know that there’s just tonnes of ancient erotica preserved at Herculaneum?”

Jess tilts her head as she turns it, neck craned and eyes wide as she stares. “The fuck, Claire?”

“We’re watching a movie about the Vesuvius eruption.” Claire is fighting with every fibre of her being to beat down the mirth threatening to crack through her _serious medical professional_ face. She nods to the wall across which a woman in theatrically heavy eyeliner and a nearly translucent toga is running. “Nobody ever talks about it, but that was all over the place.”

The woman at her side clicks her tongue, shifting to stare back with a soft hum and a chuckle _._ “And why did I need to know that?”

“You didn’t.” As Claire keeps looking forward, laughter pressing behind her lips, Jessica twists closer, bending so that her face is blocking half of Claire’s field of vision.

Jess’ expression carries confusion, her words heavily suspicious. “So why the fuck did you need to _tell_ me that?”

“You _needed_ a laugh.”

“Did I?” Jess reaches for Claire’s cup as she turns away, walking back to unzip the pack holding their stash. When she returns, it’s with refills for the both of them, along with a bag of sour gummy worms. Claire wordlessly accepts the cup – and its much stronger than she would’ve poured contents – along with a handful of the proffered sugary worms, watching as Jess pops three into her bottle and another few into her mouth. She swirls the clear container; the little worms are well-drowned in her drink when Jessica grins and speaks again. “I think the _freaks_ are rubbing off on you, C.T.” She bumps Claire with her shoulder, then stays slightly tilted, leaning into her as she pulls another wad of worms from the crinkling plastic bag.

“Could be, Jay.” Claire can definitely get a better read on a lot of the night crew now, Jess especially. That’s part of why she knows she won’t get elbowed for simply reaching around Jessica’s back, grabbing the bag of candy and taking another handful for herself. Claire nods, chewing as she continues, “‘s not so bad, though.”

“Yeah? Cool.”

☕☕☕

The sun is in the _wrong_ place. Claire doesn’t just think that because it’s _up,_ beams piercing through thin curtains to stab directly into her eyes, although that _is_ a big part of her angry confusion. The real reason she _knows_ something is wrong is the fact that the sun shouldn’t be in her face _at all,_ regardless of how cheerily the sounds of traffic and one particularly obnoxious seagull are informing her that it is very much morning. She purposely picked an apartment with windows that face north and west onto an alley and an old converted store; it is physically _impossible_ for the sun to be shining – directly or through some glaring reflection – into her eyeballs when Claire Temple is in her apartment, let alone her bed. Which, logically, can only mean that, wherever she is, Claire _isn’t_ where she is supposed to be at whatever o’clock in the morning.

She snuffles as she sits up, rubbing sleep from her eyes and glancing at the room in between blinks. It’s smaller than Claire’s own bedroom, over-painted plaster walls trimmed in heavily stacked crown moulding. The hardwood is cool under her feet. Her pants and shoes are gone, and she’s never been a _junior thespian,_ so this top definitely isn’t hers. Claire drops her face forward against her palm; this bed – this _shirt_ – belongs to Jessica Jones. That realization brings a wave of panic, but it’s the staggering rise to her feet that pulls up a rush of nausea to join her pounding heart and headache, whatever unremembered food she ate after all of that candy deciding _now_ is the perfect moment to try and escape.

Claire scrambles towards one of the three doors she has available, grateful when it swings open and reveals a toilet into which she can heave all the contents of her stomach.

She’s still getting overly close to her new porcelain friend when a familiar face pokes into the doorway. “Oh, great, you hit the bowl.”

“What-?” Claire shakes her head and spits one final time before reaching for some tissue to wipe her chin.”What did I _do_ last night?”

“Uh… pretty much exactly what you’re doing now.” Clad in a faded tanktop and panties so low cut it’s a marvel they stay up, Jessica leans into the door-frame, coffee cup in hand. “Four drinks on the roof, but we had to leave when you got sick the first time. Said you were hungry after, so I got us some takeaway noodles-” Jess nods to the sick-filled toilet bowl. “- which you managed to keep down for all of five hours.”

Claire can barely remember anything past trying to see how far those coloured candy worms would go when snapped like rubber bands. “How… Did you carry me here?”

Jess raises her mug and gives the smallest of bows.

“You are a bad influence, Jessica Jones.” It’s easier to say that than think about the fact that the woman smirking down at her hauled Claire down five flights of fire escape and at least a few long blocks back to this place.

“Might be, but I made coffee.” She turns and Claire hears the soft pop of one of Jessica’s joints, watches her stretch upwards and realizes that in all these months she’s never seen the other woman without her boots on. Jess sighs as her shoulders click, reaching back to partly close the door. “Come get some when you make it to empty. I won’t even break the cup this time.”

☕

The world is steadier as long as Claire can slump forward across the rickety two top that dominates Jessica’s kitchen. She clutches her coffee with one hand, still too woozy to drink it, but feeling her stomach settle just from the smell. Across from her, Jess actually looks _rested,_ not at all like someone who killed a half bottle of vodka by herself the night previous. Claire squints, first at Jessica, and then at her coffee. “Where did you _sleep?”_

“Couch.” Jessica refills her cup and sits back down.

Claire had seen that couch before this morning, sat on it during a few of her previous visits, and can’t imagine anyone laying on it at all, let alone sleeping on it. But, when she turns, she can see a throw pillow and a few blankets scrunched at one end. _Great._ She got sick, had to be carried here, _and then_ kept her friend from even being able to sleep in her own bed. “That was stupid. I mean; thank you, it was very nice, but we could have _shared_ the bed.”

“I don’t sleep well with people beside me.” Jess shakes her head, bare toes prodding sharply at Claire’s calf.

“ _I_ could’ve slept out there.”

Jessica gently kicks at her again as she mutters, “Farther from the bathroom.”

“I _made_ it.” _Barely._ Claire ignores the eye-roll that earns her, sipping at her mug of sludge, and – damn – is it ever. Jess’ coffee makes the two o’clock swill at the hospital seem weak by comparison, and it is _glorious._ Claire sighs and leans her cheek onto her fist.

Across from her, Jess nurses her second cup.

Claire’s finally starting to feel like something approximating a human. She has her coffee, the room has stilled; her headache is lifting, and Jessica’s toes are still resting on her leg. Chuckling out a little snort, Claire sets down her cup and smiles at the woman across from her.

Jessica catches the look, toes wiggling upwards to Claire’s knee, self-satisfied smirk tugging at her lips as her head bobs in a tiny nod. “Good?”

“Yeah.” With scaldingly hot coffee and Jess’ sneakily warm smile, it’s pretty close to the perfect sort of morning; the kind that – excluding the hangover – Claire can admit would be worth waking up to blinding sunlight and road noise, and- _The hell?!_

She bolts jerkily upright, sloshing coffee onto her fingers – “Shit!” – but too panicked to care. Claire pushes back from the table, aiming for the one place in the apartment she can guarantee herself a moment of privacy. Her hostess’ voice echoes through the door – “Hey, you need help?” – just as Claire manages to catch herself by grabbing onto the bathroom sink. She doesn’t know _what_ she needs other than to sit down, to stay in here until she figures out what’s wrong with her because that is Jessica _Fucking_ Jones on the other side of the door, and-!

“I’ll be out in a sec!” Claire sounds panicked, voice reedy in her own ears.

The door wiggles slightly, Jess’ voice so very close. “Did the coffee make it worse?”

“Yeah… I just…” She _just_ started getting sappy about spending her mornings with one of her closest _friends,_ a woman who spends her days looking for garbage on other people and her nights sometimes looking for other people _in_ garbage; Jess is trustworthy, reliable to a point, but she is not _whatever_ Claire was just considering. She slips onto the floor, wedging herself between the sink and the side of the toilet. Claire lifts her head from her knees to force out an answer before her voice fails her completely. “I just need a minute.”

“Crap-” Jess’ concerned invective makes her stomach flip again. “Do you want me to come in there?”

It’s all Claire can do not to shout back her answer – “No! No… I’ll be alright.” – but maybe saying it enough will make it true. “I’ll be fine, Jay.”

“I’ve still got some seven-up. It’s a little flat, but…” The door buckles slightly; Jess is leaning into it like she always does, like the world hasn’t just shifted and shattered in the time between sips of coffee. She’s speaking softly – especially considering her normally harsh tone – but Jessica’s not helping anything by asking, “Do you think that’ll help? You want some?”

“S-sure… when I come out.” Claire’s lucky to have cleared her stomach already because her hands are trembling too much for her to hold onto the bowl if she actually _does_ get sick. She presses her forehead to the tiled wall, grasping for whatever composure she can muster, struggling to pull herself back together as Jessica’s footfalls retreat across the hardwood.

☕

Jessica hasn’t even bothered to put on her pants, only standing slightly to the side of her open door while asking, “You’re sure you’re okay to make it home?”

“Come on, Jess; I take better care of myself than any of you.” _Physically,_ maybe. Emotionally? Well, sometimes retreat really _is_ the safest option, even if it does feel a hell of a lot like running home to hide. Claire will get a handle on it there; she can’t afford to make a habit of this. “Just one bad time; won’t happen again.”

“Of course, not. God forbid you have _any_ fun.” Jessica might be rolling her eyes, but her tone is playful, nearly indulgent. “We’ll do _this again,_ I’ll just keep a closer watch on my pours. Can’t carry you home every time, right?”

“Right.” That reminder of where she is – with _whom_ and _how_ she got here – pairs with the light pat of Jessica’s hand on her arm and hits like an unintended slap. Claire flinches, hoping it reads as embarrassment, and hoists her bag from the floor. She shrugs and starts for the stairs. “Later.”

“Shoot a text so I know you didn’t die on me, C.T.!”

Claire’s not going to die on Jessica, not going to _anything_ on her – dwell, fixate, lean, hope – because she’s not an idiot. She was last night, and she’s hungover and addled, but she’s not stupid, just like she’s not tearing ass down the apartment building stairs, not running into the sunlight to escape the thoughts chasing her.

☕

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That house party where Jessica met her fight friend? You can check it out over [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28178970/chapters/69049488).


	3. AKA Brew

☕

It’s spring, and that means more people are out, which is giving everyone at _Alias Investigations_ more work to do; the evenings are already growing longer, but that never comes with people getting any smarter. Or any more discreet. _Morons._

Jessica adjusts her lens, getting the last shot they’ll need before she pulls out her phone and texts Malcolm.

 _ **14:56 – JJ  
**_[ _we were right its the son i just watched half the nights tips go up his nose_ ]

 _ **14:56 – Malcolm  
**_[ _It’s really convenient that they get complacent so quickly._ ]

 _ **14:57 – JJ  
**_[ _morons_ ] _ **  
**_ [ _anything come in_ ]

 _ **14:59 – Malcolm  
**_[ _There’s nothing else on the books, so Gillian took off after lunch. Want me to lock up?_ ]

Jess checks the time. _1500._ She had to call off their usual coffee meetings for the last few morning stake-outs, but Jessica can get back across the city and meet Claire for her late night breakfast. _And maybe change in between._ Shit – yeah – she reeks of roofing tar from being up in this scaffolding so long; overlaying the residual smell of bar from her mini-stakeout this morning, it’s anything but pleasant.

 _ **15:00 – JJ  
**_[ _sounds good see you tomorrow set the phone to forward to my phone_ ] _ **  
**_ [ _wait never mind you have off i forgot sorry see you tuesday_ ]

 _ **15:01 – Malcolm  
**_[ _Don’t do anything stupid while I’m off the clock._ ]

As much as she might _want_ to type back _fuck you,_ Jess settles for something reasonably polite in answer – _[i wont asshole]_ – before tucking her phone and camera back into her shoulder bag. It takes some manoeuvring, along with an unnerving blind dangle, but she makes it to the ground with all her limbs, and even her _clothes_ , intact; that’s a victory in itself. Hiring Gillian and partnering with Malcolm might have upped _Alias’_ respectability, but the nature of their business makes for a lot of situations where _someone_ is going to end up looking less than presentable – or, really, _like shit_ – and that person usually winds up being her. It’s less of a burden now that they’re in the black, and Gillian has factored clothing expenses into the quarterly budget, but Jessica really likes these jeans. _And the boots._ They’re probably her favourite pair. Just like her last pair were, except _these_ aren’t covered in oil or shit or weird dripping green goop, at least not yet. But that doesn’t mean they won’t be soon.

Jess slides her phone back out, re-opening the last tab she was looking out before her mark showed up. Now _those_ boots would make a good replacement pair; practical, with a sturdy looking heel, but with the little fake buckle detail that she just can’t help liking; in fact, with _two_ of the damn things. _Even better!_ Jessica taps _share,_ leaning into the brickwork of the building as her thumbs race to type a quick question – _[what do you think of these????]_ – before she hits send.

There isn’t any reason for her to rush; Claire won’t even be awake for another two or three hours. Still, Jessica wants to ask while the question’s on her mind, just in case she forgets. _Or whatever,_ though there’s a little less of that – at least a lot less _unexpected_ whatever – than there was for a few years. A lot less than there _should_ be, what with freaks and creeps and powered up weirdos drawn to this chunk of the city like flies to shit, but even what there is isn’t Jessica Jones’ problem, at least, not _solely,_ now that they’ve worked out a system for things. Not that their little team isn’t often a major pain in Jessica’s ass.

Really, she’d be fine to let Matt and Danny right all the wrongs of the city on their own. The only issue is that even Jess would feel guilty over leaving Luke to deal with them by himself. Or, well, that’s the _first_ issue, with the second being that – eventually – Danny’s forever stare and platitudes would drive even Matt to straight up murder him.

And maybe they all had a long discussion about how to conjugate _stick_ as a verb over corndogs last week.

And, while they might not have settled on the proper verbiage, that doesn’t really matter; it still means that Jessica would have to keep a straight face at Danny Rand’s hypothetical funeral, staying stoic through the eulogy about how he was either _sticked to death_ or _stuck to death_ by the Devil of Hell’s kitchen.

And she just can _not_ do that.

What Jess _can_ do, though, is figure out something besides rooftop movies to suggest for the next time she and Claire have a ladies’ night; at this point, her friend’s begged out two weeks in a row, and Jessica’s missed one in the middle for work. If it was anyone else – like someone with a normal schedule – Jessica would almost think the other woman was avoiding her outside of the coffee shop; as it stands, she’s not exactly sure what’s going on, and – while that’s not unusual for her – Jess doesn’t exactly like it. Maybe she said something that put Claire off? If that’s the case, Jessica has no chance of being able to pick out what it was, if only because there’s just too much crap that falls out of her mouth every time she opens it. Still, it’s only been a couple days since their last coffee check in, and it’s not like Claire has actually _said_ anything is wrong; she’s not exactly shy about showing her anger or frustration, so Claire Temple probably really _is_ busy.

A siren _whoops!_ in the distance, disrupting the quiet of the afternoon, but easing Jessica’s concerns. _Everyone is busy,_ and Claire is no exception. At least, she isn’t in that regard. In other ways, she’s unlike anyone Jessica has called a friend; recently, if ever.

Claire Temple is… _comfortable._ Not boring, even if she is a little too predictable in her habits, but comfortable now that they’ve gotten to know each other. It isn’t like they’re close enough to share every secret – Jess has too many, and Claire’s made it clear there are some she _really_ doesn’t want to know – and it’s not like they were instant friends – because Jessica isn’t the type of person that would ever have or _want_ one of _those_ – but Claire is just- just _Claire;_ not by any means chill, but not so consistently _on_ that she’s obnoxious.

They get coffee, maybe once in a while drag up blankets and a pitcher of something low-test and sweet up to the roof, or just hang out when they can manage to line up their nearly opposite schedules. It’s made for damn awkward timing, especially when caffeine is involved, but – shit – that’s fine. Like, honestly, it’s more than fine because Claire doesn’t piss Jessica off like so many other people; Jess doesn’t need the filter that liquor gives to get through interactions with her and _stay_ friendly, just like she really doesn’t have to use _work_ as an excuse to keep up contact.

And Claire doesn’t expect anything of her. Wait, that’s not quite right. Claire doesn’t _want_ anything from her other than what Jessica is, even if that tends to be something between a _mess_ and an absolute _raging dumpster_ fire. There isn’t any pressure for Jess to be or do anything to keep Claire happy, let alone _around,_ and that’s novel and pretty nice.

 _Actually nice,_ knowing Claire is her friend _just_ to _be_ her friend. Not because she is trying to make herself feel better. Not because she feels some sort of obligation or responsibility. Not as a means to any sort of end. Just because.

Jessica might not be used to it, and might not completely know how to handle it, but she doesn’t mind it at all. Except for moments like this, when she’s thought about it too long and walked a block past her office for no reason other than that her feet were moving. A quick turn around fixes that problem, and she’s still home with plenty of time to wash, eat, and get coffee before five. With any luck, she can beat the pre-dinner rush for iced lattes, and then haul ass in the other direction to Claire’s apartment.

☕☕☕

 _ **23:01 – Claire T.  
**_[ _Sorry, I was at work, then went to the gym._ ] _ **  
**_ [ _I thought I told you I switched back to mids on Monday._ ] _ **  
**_ [ _Maybe next week?_ ]

 _ **06:52 – J.J.  
**_[ _sorry i didnt get your message until i woke up_ ]

 _ **19:11 – Claire T.  
**_[ _Maybe we can do something the next time you're off? Still Tuesdays, right?_ ]

 _ **19:12 – J.J.  
**_[ _sure thats cool see you tuesday_ ]

Except it _isn’t_ cool. Or, well, it doesn’t feel like it _should_ be, but- Jessica sighs. It’s not like she didn’t cancel for nearly a week, anyway; maybe Claire _is_ mad at her for being flaky? Although, Jess did say it was for work, which is a totally valid reason, so it has to be something else. Either way, Claire Temple is definitely avoiding her; there’s no question about that. Beyond not answering her texts, she hasn’t left even a single snarky comment on anything Jessica has posted this week. _Not even on the owl with the mushroom!_ She’d been sure Claire would have _something_ to say about that one.

_Briip!_

Or maybe she has plenty more to say, if the speed of her replies is anything for Jessica to go on.

 _ **19:12 – Claire T.  
**_[ _I’m really sorry I bailed last minute. I know it seems flakey._ ] _ **  
**_ [ _There’s a lot going on right now._ ]

 ** _19:13 – Claire T.  
_**[ _I just need some time away from the whole nightlife scene again. I should have said something earlier._ ]

Well, _shit;_ now Jessica looks like an absolute tool. She can feel her scowl deepening as she replies – _[dont worry i wish youd said something but okay youre sure youre not mad?]_ – sighing through her nose. She hadn’t thought she had brought up too much, had honestly been trying to keep their discussions away from most of her night-time _interactions with powered people,_ but Jessica didn’t account for how much of it Claire was bound to see anyway once she went back to nights. Jess can feel a little pissy about not knowing beforehand, but she of all people can’t get mad at her coffee buddy for trying to avoid burnout and kind of being a shitty friend in the process. Jessica Jones has _been_ that friend far too often to judge anyone else for every minor slip up.

Instead, she plugs her phone in by her bed, toes off her shoes, and pads into the tiny hole that is her kitchen. Jessica has to throw together something for dinner before it gets too late, but she’s down to leftovers from the week’s takeaway lunches or a can of peas. She opts for dumping all of it – dal, refried beans, chopped up breadsticks, tuna, _and_ the damn peas – into a baking dish. It looks slightly less pathetic once Jess slaps some cheese over the top and gives it a long spin in the microwave; the taste is _almost_ palatable, and it’s warm and filling, pleasant enough before a night that’s still carrying a chill, even in May.

Jessica eats her home-nuked meal and scrolls through the rambling update text that could have been summarized with _and then nothing happened;_ at this point, though, she just has to deal with the fact that Danny texts like he talks; at length, and to no real end. She gets through all one-thousand twenty-six words – and about halfway through her sad attempt at a casserole – before she can’t keep eating. Jess throws a lid over the container, then gives the dish pride of place in her otherwise empty fridge.

Treading back to her bedroom, Jessica strips out of her client-clothes, hanging both blouse _and_ pants in a way that she’s sure would make Malcolm vaguely proud… or just earn her a comment about actually being able to dress herself like an adult. _Fucking whatever,_ it’s not like she’s got to look good for tonight’s little stroll. Jess grabs a t-shirt and a faded burgundy hoodie, shimmying into her shittiest pair of jeans before tugging on her work boots. The fingerless gloves are probably near the end of their lifespan, but she can grab another pair at the sportswear store next Tuesday. It’s not really a uniform, not like the one _some_ people insist on having, but it’s workable and not nearly so conspicuous as a red armoured cat-suit. Jessica’s phone beeps where it rests on the nightstand; it’s not the reply she’s hoping for, flashing a one word message that’s just enough to make her sigh.

 _ **19:48 – Red  
**_[ _Here._ ]

 _Goddamn try-hard;_ he _would_ show up early.

Jessica sends him a one-emoji reply, then hammers out one last message to Claire before leaving her bedroom. She hooks her bag over her shoulder, checking to make sure she’s still got a few bandages inside, then heads out. Jess slides the single apartment key she takes on walks down into her bra, bypassing the elevator for the stairs but walking with no real hurry. It’s not like she _asked_ him to get here _right as_ night fell. Jess takes the high road, only just snipping as she steps through the back stairwell door. “Are you really that desperate to get away from the guys tonight?”

“Just excited to be out again, I guess? I came straight from work.” Matt pushes his cuffed sleeves a bit higher. His pants might be rumpled, but they’re definitely office slacks, and he’s still wearing the fucking tie.

“You could have changed _before_ you got here.” Jessica flips up her hood and turns left, already walking in the direction of his apartment as Matt falls into step beside her. “You’ve got a spare back at your place, right?”

“Oh,” Matt chuckles, looping his arm through her as he shakes his head _no,_ “I’m not wearing a suit tonight.”

“Just your safety helmet. I’ll throw it in my bag.” If he doesn’t have his reinforced cowl, tonight will be _the one night_ Matthew Murdock does nothing but get punched in the head; that was bad enough last summer when he didn’t have two souped up worrywarts waiting for him to come home safely. Dealing with their _concern_ is not something Jessica wants to have to handle, and really, “I don’t want to get shit if you get hurt; before I forget – nice subject change earlier – but did you check in?”

“Check in?”

“With your sweeties?”

The man beside her shakes his head. “It’s fine. The guys aren’t expecting me.”

“If you say so."

"I just did."

"Whatever. I got last night’s update from Danny. Nothing unusual.” Jess thinks that’s a good summary of the seven-screen-long missive concerning such riveting events as _getting bored_ and _counting alley cats_ that left her wondering how Iron Fist would have responded if she’d asked for a full update instead of a brief. “We shouldn’t have much to do besides enjoy the new graffiti.”

The walk from her apartment to his is sedate, with nothing but a few quick darts across traffic to break up the lull of the spring night. Soon enough, they’re standing in the side alley of Matt’s building, asphalt lit by intermittent flashes of pink neon.

“So, it’s gonna be an easy night, then?” Reaching overhead, Matt tugs down the new set of stairs to the narrow fire escape behind his building and begins to climb; despite the age and instability of the creaking metal on the upper flights, his steps are unerring as they ascend. “Maybe we’ll get off early.”

She still doesn’t know _exactly_ how Matt gets that window open so silently, but Jess follows him into the bright quiet of his apartment, perching on the leather arm of his couch. “I thought you said you didn’t have anywhere to be?”

“Well, it _is_ Friday; I thought maybe someone might be expecting you?” Matt’s voice echoes back to her from his bedroom. “Maybe at Josie’s?”

“The only person expecting me before noon tomorrow is my couch.”

“What about your business partner?” Matt steps back out, having foregone the black and rope ensemble Jess mentally refers to as _ninja-jammies,_ opting instead for sweats and a hooded zip up. He hands her his spare cowl and a folded white cane as he keeps asking, “Or your receptionist? The cordial one that keeps calling me _counselor?”_

“Gillian; and she’s just happy when I come in looking unscathed. Malcolm’s off for a few days, but he’s always surprised when I’m only late instead of being dead. And – _again_ – not opening until twelve.” Jessica tucks the cane and reinforced mask into her messenger bag; the cowl is not flat, but the lower portion is flexible enough that it doesn’t look like she’s got a bike helmet in there. She nudges Matt with her elbow as he’s lacing up his boots. “Thanks for agreeing to take your headgear.”

“Need to safeguard my boyish good looks, right?” Matt knows he isn’t funny, shrugging away his own comment before he admits, “It saves Fog or Karen from having to help me contour before court come Monday; so – you’re right – just in case.”

“Great.” Standing, Jessica sweeps her arm back toward the still-cracked apartment window. “Lay on, Macduff; there might be a jaywalker that needs a talking to.”

“Isn’t it _‘lead on?’”_ Matt lets her duck through the window before he follows and closes it behind them. “And isn’t that play bad luck or something?”

Jess huffs; he’s lucky she’s going down first, otherwise she would definitely have just smacked him in the shoulder. _“‘Or something.’_ You are such a fake theatre goth.”

“Unlike you?”

“Damn straight.” Jessica doesn’t bother with the last set of stairs, vaulting the rail and dropping those last few yards to land in a crouch beneath the fire escape. It doesn’t matter that Matt can’t see her smirking, Jess knows the snark is carried well enough in her voice. “Hurry it up; I want to get this over with so I can get back home and stop having to wear pants.”

☕☕☕

Claire braces one hand on the edge of her counter-top, the other clenching her cellphone as she sighs out through her nose, glaring at her own faint reflection in the window above her kitchen sink. Staring out the window and pretending to wash her dinner dishes is definitely easier than trying to ignore Jessica Jones. Not that Jess has been overly persistent; she’s been her usual self, sporadic nonsense texting and all. This is Claire’s problem, and one she can’t seem to get a handle on fixing, even after limiting her exposure these past weeks.

It isn’t her first time considering starting something with somebody… _gifted_. Hell, it isn’t even the _second_ time Claire’s gotten hung up on part of the Kitchen’s self-appointed cleaning crew. If _anyone_ should know better than to do something like this, it’s her, but Claire still finds herself considering it, a fact made doubly worse because she’s considering _this_ with _Jessica Jones;_ the woman who freely admits that she doesn’t so much _date_ as _serially fuck,_ something that they might laugh at over coffee, but which is coming back to have disastrous repercussions because Claire Temple is _actually considering this._ As a _serious_ option, no longer something she can blame on being hung over and dehydrated.

None of that is even taking into account the question of whether any of what’s on her mind would even be viable. Claire knows she’s not an awful option, but, while Jess might not have good taste – or _any_ to speak of – when it comes to her love life, she does have a pretty clear pattern of preference in partners. It’s a pattern with which Claire does not in any way fit; firstly, there’s being a woman, secondly, Claire can think of little she has in common with anyone Jess has mentioned beyond the fact that she lives in the city. There’s overlap with some of Jessica’s more _unfortunate_ choices, but only because the nature of Claire’s work means that she regularly has _literal_ blood on her hands.

Though, at the moment, it’s the phone _in_ one of them that’s causing the issue. Claire got the message an hour ago, but she still isn’t sure if or how she should answer it.

 _ **07:51 pm – Jessica Jones  
**_[ _hey im leaving my phone cause im gonna be out with red tonight dont worry well be stupid careful_ ] _ **  
**_ [ _sorry you said no updates so you can ignore that_ ] _ **  
**_ [ _let me know when you feel better i miss hanging out and i owe you a coffee or five_ ]

She shouldn’t lie to Jess. Claire _knows_ that; the same way she knows it’s better to avoid her friend for the time being, for as long as it takes Claire to get a handle on this spate of infatuation. Though, at a minimum, she should have mentioned the shift change earlier; it might have been an abrupt acquiescence when the opportunity arose, but now Claire worries that her coffee date- her coffee _pal_ might suspect something. Probably not _this,_ but still. _Something._

And that is all the more reason for Claire _to_ answer the message on her screen; any longer and Jessica might just decide to confront her about it in person. Claire tries to keep her response innocuous, and it’s a total cop-out, but it’s better than nothing, and all she can manage without risk of doing something regrettable. She sets the phone on the edge of her sink and turns on the tap to rinse off her mug and plates.

☕☕☕

Jessica is going to start packing headbands in her kit so she can get her hair out of her face when she needs to see; purple and green to match the bruises that’ll be living on her face. Maybe scrunchies, since those are kinda back now. Teenage Jess would argue they never left, but adult Jess can recognize that referencing herself in third person is probably a bad sign, just like the high-pitched tone she knows is coming from _inside_ her head. She could speed her pace, but she’s worried it would make things worse for the man she’s carrying piggyback. “Hey, Red, how are you holding up back there?”

Matt mumbles groggily against the top of her shoulder. “Bumpy ride, but ’m okay.”

He isn’t anything close to _okay_ , but he’s semi-cogent, and that’ll have to be good enough. “What’s our story this time?”

“Disgruntled client?” That’s a good one, and easy to sell to anybody that references some of the cases Murdock and Nelson have taken on. “Or -” Matt coughs into her hair. “Crap – there’s enough scummy assholes to blame it on, I’ll just pick one “

“Wouldn’t that be lying under oath? Along with filing a false report?”

His chuckle is wet and rasped, but Matt can’t be too close to death’s door if he can laugh at one of _her_ jokes. “As opposed to saying I want to press charges on a man with metal squid arms because I got hurt baby-bug-sitting?”

As stupid as it sounds, Jessica is pretty sure she knows at least a few of the city’s finest who would be more than willing to believe that story, and might even try to follow up on it. But, well, that isn’t what they do, so Jessica just has to shake her head and keep walking. “That kid needs a leash, a bell, and someone to lock him in his goddamn room.”

“Kinky.”

 _Jokes mean he’ll live,_ but – when they’re that bad – they also prompt Jessica to roll her eyes. “I’ll blame that last explosion for you being stupid gross just now.”

She can feel Matt’s nod, but he’s quiet as he rests against her back for another block, grip growing lax as the lights of the hospital’s ambulance bay come into view. Jessica slows, then stops, asking, “Do you want me to take you up to the door?”

“I can limp my way in.” Matt is squirming already, trying to get down faster even as Jess lets him go. “I need my, um, my stick?

“Think you left it jammed up that guy’s ass.”

“Spare cane in the bag. Gotta look helpless.” Matt shakes his head and nearly over-balances; luckily the wall is there to catch him.

“You’re sure it’s just _looking_ and not _being?”_ Jessica did not haul him this far for Matt Murdock to fall down dead before he can even get inside the damn hospital.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s really not that bad; hopefully they won’t want to keep me overnight.” The familiar white cane flicks out, segments snapping together as Matt turns to limp away. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“I’ll wait until you get in.” Jessica nods, then plasters herself to the brickwork, watching Matt as he trudges his way toward the ambulance loop, face bloodied and shirt torn. He doesn’t actually _get into_ the hospital proper before he starts to wobble over, but somebody’s there to catch him, at least; he’s whisked away into the building, leaving Jess to quietly make her way home.

She’s sore and a little sooty, and there are bloodstains on her hoodie, though the blood isn’t hers. Or, well, Jessica doesn’t _think_ any of it is hers. She nearly stumbles herself as she opens her door, but manages to lock up and shuffle her way through the office and bedroom for a shower.

It’s only after she’s clean that Jessica takes time to survey the night’s damage. She’s going to need a haircut now that it’s singed a good inch shorter on the left side. There’s a tentacle claw-print bruise on her shoulder, and a key-shaped impression under her right breast, complete with a row of tiny cuts from the teeth. All of that is ignoring the, frankly, impressive shiner that has gone well past being just a black eye and pretty much taken over the left side of her face. _Oh,_ “Fuck…”

Jessica pulls on clean underwear and a fresh t-shirt. She crawls into bed and rolls over to check the phone plugged in on her nightstand. The reply from Claire is nice, even if Jess wishes she’d gotten it sooner.

 _ **20:23 – C.T.  
**_[ _Have fun while you’re out. I’ll be in all night if you guys need to stop by._ ]

Taking Matt by Claire’s directly would’ve been a lot simpler, but Jessica isn’t too mad about it. Claire said she wanted time to herself, right? Time away from the _Defenders_ and what they do; time away from Jess, who can’t quite put a name to what about that thought is so upsetting. Instead, she types a reply, setting a delayed send just in case Claire still has her phone on. No point in waking her, since it’s not that important.

 _ **07:00 (Pending since 00:13) – J.J.  
**_[ _matt is having a sleepover at general_ ] _ **  
**_ [ _ill bring by coffee for you guys in the morning_ ]

That’ll work. What _won’t_ is a face to face meeting when _Jessica’s face_ looks like _this._ It’s barely after midnight; Gillian will be up.

 _ **00:15 – J.J.  
**_[ _how would you like to be boss lady for a day and do an in person at the clients office_ ] _ **  
**_ [ _if i use enough concealer to hide what i need to ill look fucking suss as shit_ ] _ **  
**_ [ _maybe well get a better review for personalized service_ ]

The three dots pop up before Jess can even send her second text; she can practically hear the sharpness in her office manager’s answer.

 _ **00:15 – Gillian  
**_[ _Just as long as I get the boss lady pay rate for the day. Do I get to know why you’re spending the day in your hole?_ ]

 _ **00:16 – Gillian  
**_[ _Also, as a follow-up, do you need someone to come by and check on you? Not want. NEEEED. Because I know Malcolm is out, and I’m concerned you’ll forget to feed yourself._ ]

 _Mother fuck,_ this is how Gillian shows she _cares,_ but Jessica isn’t a dumb kid. She just went out looking for trouble on a Friday night and had to dump her friend at the ER, and _maybe_ Gillian has a point, but she doesn’t need to be so goddamn direct about it.

 _ **00:16 – J.J.  
**_[ _dont worry ive got a casserole in the fridge and i already took some stuff for the headache just gonna rest tomorrow scouts honour_ ]

 __ **00:17 – Gillian  
**[ _There’s a pain in the ass badge now?_ ] _ **  
**_ [ _If things get worse, CALL SOMEBODY._ ]

That’s not a bad idea, but the only person Jessica would call is going to be working all day, and she’ll see her tomorrow, anyway. She turns onto her side and tugs the sheet up over her head. She ends up having to roll over again anyway; there’s no way Jess can sleep facing the window tonight.

☕


	4. AKA Froth

☕

“So much for stupid safe.”

Matt Murdock has the gall to smile back at her as he tips his head in question. “What was that?”

“I didn’t go to bed expecting to see you this morning.” Claire can’t stay too long – she has other patients to see – but she had to poke her head in after Jessica’s text came through this morning. “Have fun?”

“It was a blast.” Matt drops his voice, going full smirk as he continues, “A big one; they probably heard it a few blocks away.”

 _Great._ He looks more battered than burnt, but Claire’s seen Matt – and, well, _all_ of them – try to walk off some truly heinous injuries. The fact that Matthew Murdock is here could very well mean he was the only one upright and sane enough to make it in. Claire braces for that before asking, “Everybody else okay?”

“Oh; it was just me and your coffee pal.” He tips his chin toward the bedside tray, currently home to a half-eaten bowl of oatmeal and a very familiar paper cup. Matt reaches for it, scooting the tray closer to her. “She dropped that off for you this morning.”

“I can see that.” _Damnit._ She stopped by to see Matt as soon as she could, and Claire’s only been in for an hour. That means Jessica got in and messaged her at twelve, then turned back around and managed to get coffee here just after seven. Claire is relieved she unknowingly missed the other woman; the _last_ thing she needs is to have to brush off Jess while Matt’s there listening to her every twitch. _Although,_ his chart says he’s on some decent painkillers. If Claire is lucky, she might be able to use that in her favour since she’s not being entirely untruthful as she says, “I already got some, so I don’t really want it. You take it.”

“Is that medically advisable?”

“Not really, but I know you’re less of a dick when you have coffee, so…” Claire pushes the rolling tray back, then nudges the cup towards Matt’s already reaching hand. “I’m _advising_ that you drink it.”

“And you are the only medical professional in the room -” Matt takes a small sip, then a deeper gulp, loosing a happy sigh. “- so I probably ought to listen to you.”

“The one time you admit that, and there’s nobody here as a witness.”

Grinning, Matt nods and takes another long sip from his paper cup.

Claire shakes her head, stepping back to the hallway. Despite what he just said, she has a sinking feeling Matt will try to get himself out of that room before lunch time, so she leaves him with one last admonition as she closes the door behind her. “I’ll be by before my shift ends; no checking yourself out.”

☕☕☕

Jessica really _does_ try to rest like she promises, but then the sun is up, and then _she is up_ and dressed and on her way, already out on the street before she remembers that she basically took a giant metal squid hand to the face last night. At least she’s in a clean hoodie, that and her hangover sunglasses go a long way to disguising the worst of her bruising.

The first time Jess goes in to pick up coffee, the barista gawps, stammers, and fucks up half her order. Jessica chokes down the lavender creme frappe – _with soy_ – just for the two shots of espresso she knows went into it, mollified that she at least has one dead-eye to drop off to Claire at the hospital this morning. She’s clearly fucked up, and Jess has to hope that a trip out of her way and a hot cup of coffee will at least get her on the path to making things right between them, even if Jessica isn’t sure what she did, or when, or what else she can do about it. She leaves the coffee on the bedside table and waves to the still bleary man on the hospital bed, then trudges back to work to rearrange appointments and slog through half a billion emails.

Jessica Jones makes it more than an hour past lunch before she’s headed back to the coffee shop.

The second time, the barista stares but must remember Jessica’s fuming from earlier in the day; the order is perfect, and there are _three_ doughnuts in the bag. That makes walking into the hospital room even more disappointing, the flourescent lights worsening Jess’ headache and the taste of fucking flowers still somehow sitting on her tongue, only to see the first paper cup where she left it sitting on Matt Murdock’s rolling tray. Jessica glances at the clock on the wall just to reassure herself that it is, in fact, well into the afternoon as she sets down the drink carrier. “Have you seen Claire since you came in last night?”

Matt grins up at her from the chair beside his bed. “As much as I see anyone.”

“You know what I fucking mean.”

“Yes, I do, and, yes, I have.” If Matt Murdock had any shame, he wouldn’t be such an ass. He doesn’t, and he is, but at least he’s answering her question. “Once at the start of her shift, and once on her lunch break. Why?”

“Just wondering.” Jess shrugs, perching on the edge of the raised hospital bed. “The coffee’s still here.”

“That cup is almost empty; I drank it.”

“You _what?”_

“The coffee here tastes like they filter it through Steve’s socks,” whines Matt. “Claire said I could have it.”

“Yeah; of course, you can have it, Red.” It’s been there for hours, and the sight of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen reaching for the near empty cup like a kid for a stuffie is too weird for Jess to bother arguing with him; she can only recall Matt getting this way a few times before, and always for the same reason. “When Claire came by, was that before or after you got your medication, Matty?”

“Before; Claire said she didn’t want any more coffee today.”

“Oh.” _Shit._ Claire refusing coffee is one sign further that something has gone horribly wrong without her knowledge. Jessica wasn’t even _here_ to piss her off, and she can’t fathom why Claire – who freely admits to being powered by caffeine and spite – would turn down coffee. _Free coffee… free apology coffee._ Jess stares at the coffee carrier in her hands before setting it on the tray. “Any idea why not?”

“She saw the coffee; asked me who brought it. The minute I mentioned you, her pulse spiked and she said I could have it. She came back at lunch, but I was kind of out of it…” Matt trails off, head tipping in the sharp sideways angle that Jess recognizes as his version of the _forever stare._ He blinks, clicking his tongue a few times before shifting to face her again. “I think she’s mad at you, but I was… I mean, I _am…_ ya know?”

“Floaty time?”

“Very.” Matt’s smile lands squarely between bemused and rictus. “Glad they’re releasing me before dinner.”

“They’re letting you out with just an overnight observation? Lucky break.”

“Lucky _no breaks.”_

“All these visits and they still can’t find a cure for your shitty sense of humour.” Jessica sighs, but it isn’t only because Matt Murdock is so awfully unfunny. He might be shit at humour, but he can take care of himself; Matt was mostly just a good excuse to come and see Claire. Well, not that him getting smacked around was _good,_ but Matt’s injuries actually warranted coming into the hospital. By comparison, Jess might be doing a fair impression of a dalmatian, but it’s nothing that would give her an excuse to see Claire. Because – _apparently_ – Jessica needs something that’s hospital-worthy just to get on her friend’s calendar these days. She tucks her hair behind her ear and swallows a huff. Jessica gets brushed off all the time. Even coming from Claire, it shouldn’t be bothering her to this extent. “I don’t know why she’s _pissed,_ but you don’t get to drink this cup.”

Matt nods and crosses his arms with a little huff.

 _He’s such a brat on pain meds…_ Lucky for him, he’s got someone to look after him while he’s coming off of them; lucky for Jess, it _isn’t_ her. She pulls her phone from her pocket, unlocking it as she asks. “You want me to let the guys know I’m leaving? That you’re free for company before they swoop in to take you home?”

“Um… Yeah, yeah, that would be good.”

“You told them you came in, right? Or they got a call?” That’s how it works; Jessica would know. As long as one of the guys is listed – no doubt under an alias, but, whatever – they should have gotten notified once Matt came in last night.

The man sitting with her tips his head, smile tinged with guilt as he answers, “I... I think so...?”

“You _think-?!_ Shit, Matt; it’s been a full day!” It’s not something Jess does personally – this whole checking in thing – but she’d do it if she could; there’s just no one she _needs_ to call really, no one waiting or worried that she’s dead in a dumpster somewhere, but that might be a good thing in this case; there’s nobody prone to panicking over her injuries, either. Jessica’s left with _that_ thought as the call connects.

_“Hello?”_

_Fuck,_ she still has to wonder how Matt _dates_ this guy; he might be one of her friends, but sometimes just the sound of Steve’s voice is enough to make Jessica feel like she’s done something wrong. “Hey, it’s me. I’m at General with Matt, and-”

The questions hit like slaps – _“What happened? Were you two out in_ that _last night?!”_ – making it a struggle not to yell her responses back to him. “Just a little dust up, and I _thought_ he called one of you-”

 _“But_ you _didn’t call us-!”_

“Well, I've kinda got a lot going right now, and I called as soon as I knew you _didn’t know,_ and-!” Alright, so maybe Jess failed at keeping her temper and she _is_ practically shouting back at him, but he’s the one coming at her like she dropped the ball. Which is bullshit; Matt Murdock is her friend, but when it comes down to it, “I am _not_ your boyfriend’s fucking minder, _Mr. Rogers.”_

That shuts him up long enough for her to take a breath, for Jessica to hear the exchange on the other end of the line – _“Steve, hand me the phone.”_ – long enough for Matt to mumble back at her, “You say that, but this is the second time you’ve been in to see me today, so it looks like you kinda _are.”_

“I wasn’t here to see _you,_ dipshit. I was here for-” _Claire._ To check in _with Claire,_ which maybe isn’t so weird, except…

 _Except,_ Jessica has gotten a dead-eye and extra doughnuts, has come by the hospital, has tromped her way to Matt’s room and put up with his insufferable smugness _twice_ in a single day on the chance of bumping into Claire, and- That’s it. Jessica just wants to see her – _Right the hell now_ – overcome with a desperation so cloying that Jess feels like she’s going to hurl, like holding it in is just going to make this sudden anxiety that much worse. Her fluttering heart expands to crush her lungs, and Jessica would swear she was giddy if she wasn’t so terrified that Claire really has broken off their friendship and dumped her; now _that_ would be awful, just when they’d gotten so close, and- wait _dumped?!_ Friends _ditch_ you, but the only people that’ve ever _dumped_ Jessica Jones have been… “Oh, fuck me.”

_“Look, Jess, I got him off the line, so-”_

She yanks the phone away from her ear, practically throwing it into Matt’s lap – “Here, talk to your damn boyfriend.” – before she steps away, bracketing herself into the corner, even though the wall at her back is doing little to calm her. She cuts her eyes to the window, tracking the sporadic flapping of pigeons in the alley below as she tries to, if not make sense of things, at least put a name to them so she can shove them away until Matt finishes his phone call and gives her back her mobile.

“I’m sorry… Yes, I’m fine, really.” Matt tilts his head in her direction, brows lifting as he interrupts his conversation. “Jessica? Are you-? You’re panicking. Do I need to hit the call button? I-”

“No; I’m fine. I’m just late.” By a _decade_ at least, maybe longer. _Damn it,_ isn’t there supposed to be a _timeline_ for figuring this shit out?! Shouldn’t Jessica have _known before now_ that she… She _could like-?_

“Thank you, Clint.” From the corner of her eye, she can see Matt hang up, arm outstretched as he offers the phone back to her, “Hey, Jess, I’m sorry to hold you up-”

“You didn’t. It’s my fault.” And – _fuck_ – if it isn’t. Jessica’s fault for getting too involved, too damn close, before she even realized what was happening, and – _shit_ – now she’s got a headache to go with the nausea and the black eye. All of that is coupled with the concerned little pout Matt Murdock is giving her from the other side of the room to make her feel even shittier, and Jess takes a deep breath before sighing it out. She walks back to take the phone, reclaiming her seat on the side of the bed. “Nothing you can do about it. I’ll be okay.” It’s a lie – Jess knows that Matt _knows_ it’s not true – but maybe she can fool herself into believing it if she says it enough. “Seriously, I’m good.”

“Jessica…” Apparently, it’s possible to catch someone else’s _disappointed voice_ if you date them long enough, and Matt’s concern is obvious when he reaches over to _voluntarily_ pat her leg. “I get it; hospitals still set me off, too. I know I can’t help much, but maybe Clint could? He’s coming to get me anyway…”

“I am _fine.”_

“You are _not.”_ He huffs. “I’m medicated, not an idiot. You went haywire a couple minutes ago while Steve was on the phone.”

“Well, yeah-!” _Steve_ is not the reason Jessica nearly threw up in her mouth and started going through street names, but he is _a reason_ that she might. One that’s believable, and far easier to admit; it’s one that definitely didn’t _help_ with everything else Jess is trying to manage in the moment. “I mean, no shit I did. The _loudest fucking man on Earth_ just chewed my ear off because you didn’t text either of them, and now I've got a fucking migraine to go with the black eye.”

“You didn’t tell me you had a black eye.”

“That’s your takeaway?” _Good._ Let Matt Murdock fixate on something inconsequential, Jessica has places to be that are _not here._ “Look, tell Clint I said hey, tell Steve he’s a dick, and please – for shit’s sake – stay the fuck home for the rest of the weekend?”

“But Luke and Danny are busy,” Matt protests.

 _“I_ will keep up your stupid little _walks.”_ At this point, Jessica is willing to do pretty much anything, just as long as she can do it alone and away from the human lie detector sitting in the hospital bed beside her. She stands, leaving the coffee and doughnuts on the table, very gently mussing Matt’s hair before she walks back toward the door. “Pretty sure the mess we slipped in last night is all there’s gonna be this weekend.”

“Still, you should call someone if you need help.” For a moment, the petulant patient disappears, and Daredevil smiles back at her. “Somebody _owes_ you. For the migraine.”

“Maybe I will.” She won’t, but Jess doesn’t tell him that. Instead, she shrugs, opening the door and offering Matt one last little wave. “Stay there until Big Bird comes to get you. And _don’t_ touch the coffee.”

“Fine…” Matt’s whining drifts behind her into the hallway.

☕☕☕

Claire glances down at the string of messages she ignored all weekend, worrying her lip in her teeth as she re-reads them this morning for the umpteenth time.

 _ **07:45 am – Jessica  
**_[ _didnt see you when I dropped in to see matt so I left your coffee with him_ ]

 _ **02:37 pm – Jessica  
**_[ _matt drank it oops but its cool I brought a second and some doughnuts if you want it before the bfs come to get him_ ]

 __ **03:23 pm – Jessica**  
[ _going to be in all day got a killer headache but might go out for dinner before my walk_ ]  
[ _shit sorry no more updates bye til tuesday_ ]

The messages are from Saturday, and she still hasn’t responded. It’s Monday. Claire only has one more day of being able to hide behind _needing_ time. Tomorrow is Tuesday, _and…_ Tuesday’s been looming over her all weekend, and Claire’s still at a loss as to how she’ll manage once it actually arrives. Jessica already expects her to be available – hell, Claire is the one who suggested doing something in the first place – so she can’t just bail again. _It’s just coffee._ She can see Jess for coffee, put these feelings to bed, and go back to her regular, if not boring, at least somewhat predictable life.

The first way to do that, of course, is to stop letting fear of running into Jess get in the way of her morning routine. Which is why Claire is here, finally back at the place that started this mess, waiting in the pickup huddle for her daily sources of caffeine and sugar.

She thought the crowd might be thinning by ten, but the place is still as busy as ever. Claire is currently waiting on her order, awkwardly wedged between the wall and a man in a hooded sweatshirt so faded and stained that she can just barely acknowledge it must have once been purple. Hopefully, she can shimmy her way around him when her order comes up.

_“Two coffees and a caramel creme frappe and-!”_

The shouted order sets hoodie dude moving, and Claire finally feels like she has a little space to breathe; the corner was getting crowded and – even if it’s only for a few minutes before her order comes up – she wants to take the time she has to just be.

_“- double dead-eye and doughnuts!”_

_Oh, well;_ it was nice for the moment it lasted. Claire hikes her purse higher on her shoulder and steps up to the counter. She grabs the doughnut bag and reaches without thought for her coffee, only stopping when she notices that her bag is heavier than it should be, and that someone already has a hold of the cup Claire now realizes _isn’t hers._

“Um…?” mumbles hoodie guy, head cocked in question as he looks down at her. Even clad in worn jeans and that trashy sweatshirt, it’s clear that he’s jacked. His calloused hand is already resting on the coffee Claire had aimed for. She takes a step back as he stares at her, blue-grey eyes widening as he greets her – “Oh, hey, Ms. Te-” – just as the woman at the counter yells again.

_“Double dead-eye and doughnut!”_

"Sorry, I- That one’s mine.” Claire drops the bag she’s holding, snatching up her _actual_ order and hurrying away from the question and the man that follow her out the door.

“Hey, are you alright?”

Claire hooks a left, but – _Stupid!_ – it’s into the service side alley that’s more than mostly blocked by the coffee shop’s delivery van. She isn’t sure that she can squeeze past, but Claire will just have to chance it. Her only options now are to keep walking or risk having to confront a very large man who’s coffee she nearly walked off with. A man Claire could swear she recognizes from work, as a patient, not a colleague, and that’s rarely a good thing; there’s something familiar, about both his hands and his voice, and he certainly seems to _know_ her. Of all the times for Claire to have come on her own! She might keep in decent shape, but, at this point, her best option would be to hope her thrown coffee hits his face and gives her an opportunity to get back to the crowded sidewalk. Claire doesn’t have time to consider other options before the man behind her speaks again.

“Hey, uh, Ms. Temple?” Claire’s not great with accents, but there’s something nasally and obnoxious in the man’s vowels; whoever he is, he hasn’t always been local.

Grip tightening on her cup, Claire rounds on him, feeling a trickle of relief that he’s still a few yards back. “Stop following me.”

“Uh- Okay.” The man at the mouth of the alley lifts his hands – paper bag in one and coffee carrier in the other – and takes a half step back. “I’m just gonna stay here, but do you need help? I mean, are you okay? Because you kinda freaked out back there, so I followed you…” He trails off, looking quickly down, then over his shoulder before glancing back to her. He takes another step back, finally seeming to realize their situation.

“Of course, I freaked; I _know_ you.” Not that her mind’s drawing up anything concrete; Claire’s only got the feeling of familiarity, along with vague recollections of shrapnel and stitches. Being that definitive was probably a bad idea, so Claire backpedals a bit. “I mean, not _know,_ but I think we _met_ when I was working the night shift.”

“Yeah, we did. I’m-”

“I don’t _want_ to know.” Claire cuts him off with her words and a raised hand clutching a doughnut bag. “Safer. For both of us.”

“Oh, sure, gotcha, but, listen…” He trails off, head ducked in a quesitoning nod as he shrugs. “Are you alright?”

For a moment, she isn’t sure why he’s asking – why he followed her out and into the alleyway _to ask_ – but then Claire did effectively run like her ass was on fire after touching his coffee, so… “I’m sorry about earlier. I thought it was my order, and- Look, I just have a lot going on, and I’m taking a break from _work;_ I don’t usually keep up with after hours patients.”

“That’s alright. No big deal, since we both know-”

“It’s fine.” Claire Temple has a sinking feeling she already knows _exactly who_ their shared acquaintance is, and that thought isn’t making her morning any better. _This city is too damn small._ “Really, I should get going.”

“Oh… yeah, me too. I mean-” The man switches the doughnut bag to the same hand as the coffee carrier, now-emptied right hand lifting to rub the back of his neck as he offers a sheepish grin. “No point in dropping off a cold dead-eye, right?”

“Free coffee is free coffee.” It’s out of her mouth before Claire can stop herself.

Given the way the guy between her and the sidewalk chuckles, she doesn’t have to guess that they both heard it from the same person. “Yeah, sure, just, um… Mind if I scootch past you? It’s a little faster that way.”

“I do mind. I’ll scootch.” Claire isn’t sure what _real_ good a cup of coffee is going to do her, but she knows that – if it comes to it – she has a better chance of hitting hoodie guy with the coffee than the paper bag. She shakes her head, proud to keep the tremor in her gut out of her voice. “You can back up.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” His nonchalance is disarming, so much so that Claire looses a tiny squeak when his _scootch_ involves a backwards jump to sit on the dumpster. Heedless of her rising panic, alley guy tips his head in apology, mumbling as he sips his coffee. “Sorry about boxing you in.”

Claire fights the urge to walk backwards like she’s easing away from a bear. It’s unnerving that she’s running into this many patients from her night job just getting a cup of coffee. _Shit, how many of them are there?_

The man on the dumpster offers a friendly little wave as she passes.

Claire congratulates herself on maintaining a normal walking pace, speeding only once she’s rounded the corner.

☕☕☕

There’s someone knocking on their door, and – for the umpteenth time that day – Jessica mouths a silent _thank you_ to Gillian, who slides out of her chair to open it. “Good afternoon. Do you have an appointment?”

“I, uh…” Clint trails off, peering at Jess over her office manager’s head before shimmying his way over the threshold, bag and drink carrier held out like an offering. “I have free coffee for you two, along with an apology for Jess.”

One thing Jess loves about her is that Gillian is only subtle when she wants to be; she isn’t now, one finger pointing back at Jessica as she jabs the other accusingly at Clint. _“You_ did _that?”_

“No, I- Shit, Jess-” Clint stammers into a frown, and Jessica can guess he’s finally taking a good look at her bruises. She told Matt she had a black eye, not that the left side of her face was going to be technicolour for a few days. It’s obvious that Clint wasn’t expecting it; he nods apologetically to her before once more addressing Gillian. “I can promise; I did not do _that.”_

“Gillian, I told you. I got stupid and tried to stop a nerd fight.” Jess isn’t _exactly_ lying with that explanation, not if she breaks it down to the basics; kid who got super powers from too much science fighting literal mad-scientist? That’s pretty clearly a _nerd fight,_ and she _did_ get the black eye after actually – if accidentally – winding up in between them, so… _Mostly true._ But she doesn’t need Gillian to know that, so for now Jessica can only sigh out her request, “Please stop trying to mother-hen free coffee out of our office.”

Gillian gives Clint Barton another few seconds of stink-eye before sauntering back to Jessica’s desk. She leans in, dropping her voice as she speaks; not low enough to go unheard, but softly enough to make a point. “Jessica, you being a pushover for bullied kids does not explain hobo blond beef and his apology coffee.”

“His-” _Lover? Super spouse? Pet asshole?_ The word Jessica settles on hardly seems to cover it all, but it makes sense, and it doesn’t reveal anything Clint might not want it to. “His boyfriend decided to shout at me over the phone Saturday-”

“He was being a dick,” interjects Clint.

“He _is_ a dick,” replies Jess.

“Sometimes, but this apology is from me.” Clint first sets a paper bag on her desk – “I’m sorry my honey-bun was an idiot and had to go to the ER.” – then pulls a cup from the drink carrier – “And I’m sorry my sweetheart was a bag of dicks over the phone.” – before handing a second cup to Gillian. – “And I’m sorry you got worried and had to look after Jessica; I’ve heard she’s an awful patient.”

“The worst,” mumbles Gillian as she takes her coffee. She tips her head toward her own workstation, walking away and giving Clint and Jess the illusion of privacy as she sits back down.

“Not your job to apologize -” Not about the hospital runs or the obnoxious _Steven-ing_. “- but I will totally accept the coffee.”

“And _I_ will accept the caramel drizzle and whipped cream.”

_So much for privacy._

Gillian twiddles her fingers at Clint and flashes a beaming smile, then asks, “Jessica, why don’t all your phone arguments end with fancy coffee?”

“Because we like it better when they end in a paycheque.” She and Gillian stare at each other a moment before the other woman returns her attention to the computer in front of her. Jessica knows she should be a good hostess – get up and maybe move to the client couch or something – but Clint is already settling into a perch on the edge of her desk. It groans just a bit under his weight, and Jessica has to lean back to speak with him, but she didn’t sleep worth shit for the last two nights, and she’s too tired to care about decorum right now. Her life might be imploding, but Clint was nice enough to bring her a pick-me-up; Jess can at least talk to him, and she does want to ask after Matt. “Everything okay back at the nest?”

“We all showed up for work today.” Clint nods, taking a sip first from one cup of coffee and then the other.

Jessica joins him, sipping in silence for a moment before she opens the bag and peeks inside to find three doughnuts, all blueberry. _God-fucking-damnit._ She is _not_ going to cry right now. Jess covers her sniffle with a loud slurp.

“Those okay? They were out of crullers, but I figured repayment in kind, right?”

“They’re fine.” And she’s fine. _Every-fucking-thing is fine._ Claire must have left the doughnuts, too. That pretty much confirms that their Tuesday coffee time is going to end with Jessica having one less friend, before she even got the chance to see if… if this is – or could be – _more_ than that, and now she’s starting to panic, and Clint Barton is still sitting hunched on her goddamn desk like a worried, hooded gargoyle, and- _Fuck!_ Jess shakes her head to fling those thoughts away and reaches for her coffee. “They’re great. Thanks.”

“No problem. Are _you_ alright?”

“All that overtime work just did a number on me.”

“It did… but speaking of work, though, I ran into someone on her way to work this morning when I grabbed your coffee.” Clint chuckles, switching the cup he’s drinking from for reasons only he knows as he speaks, “She’s a little jumpy off the night shift.”

“Yeah, she’s taking some time away. Emergency stuff’s getting to her.” Like this conversation and that bag full of sweets are getting to Jess. Clint probably just bought whatever they had. Jessica has to hope he didn’t buy them out of blueberry cake doughnuts, though; bad enough that Claire’s burnt out and pissed off, she doesn’t need to get screwed by not getting her sugar fix before her shift. “She stops there a lot.”

“Same order as you; she nearly took off with your coffee, too.”

“And you rescued it? My hero.”

“Aww, you say the sweetest shit.” Clint smiles, but it doesn’t quite take, and the worry is obvious on his face as he gestures toward hers. “You sure you’re okay? Besides…?”

“Yeah, it’ll clear up by tomorrow; I’m fine.” Jessica has been willing that to be true all day, but it’s still not happening. If it was a simple matter of _just_ having a bruised face, that would be one thing, but that wouldn’t give Jess reason to drop her voice and shrug as she continues, “It’s just kinda compl-”

“I _am_ here and _can_ hear you, boss,” quips Gillian, offering a semi-sympathetic warning over her coffee cup.

“Yeah, and?” Snapping is automatic, but Jessica is still grateful; she doesn’t need to be dragging up her personal life at work. “Like I said; fine, just considering my options for future favours. I appreciate the coffee, but Stagger still owes me one.”

“Ah.” Clint Barton chuckles as he slides up from her desk into a jaunty lean. “I’ll let him know.”

“Loom a little?” Jessica stands, picking up the bag of doughnuts as she follows Clint to the door.

He turns around, face all congenial country-boy smile, one hundred percent Clint _Trashling_ Barton; it doesn’t match the serious cadence of Hawkeye’s voice on a normal day, let alone one where Jess is battling sleep-deprivation and a wicked headache. “You gonna be okay today?”

He means _tonight,_ and, even though she isn’t anywhere close to certain, Jessica nods. “Yeah; you've got enough idiots to worry about.”

“Cool.” Clint doesn’t believe her – Jess can tell – but she also knows he’ll leave her alone about it. He turns on his heel, coffee carrier in hand as he heads for the lift at the end of the hall. “Later.”

“See ya.” Jess closes the door, unceremoniously dropping the bag of doughnuts on Gillian’s desk before tromping back to her own.

“So what’s the deal with dimples and nice arms?” Elbows on her desk, Gillian leans forward, voice conspiratory as she asks, “I mean… I’m all for coffee and snacks, but- You’re sure you don’t want these?”

“They’re all yours. And I met him on a job.” And then Jess had wound up introducing Clint to his boyfriend. _One of them,_ anyway. “What happened to ‘hobo blond beef?’”

“He _is,_ just, you know.” Gillian bobs her head side to side and shrugs. “Coffee. Doughnuts. _Dimples-”_

“Disaster.”

“Really?” Gillian nods toward the bag of doughnuts into which she’s already reaching. “But he seems so nice.”

“He _is nice.”_ Settling back into her chair, Jessica pops the lid from her coffee cup and takes a slow sip. “He’s also a disaster, and he’s _also_ got a _very_ full plate.”

“Ah… Well, work wise, so do we.” The doughnut in her left hand doesn’t stop Gillian from typing away with her right, nodding toward her computer screen. “We have a client meeting at eleven-thirty, and your face is a tragedy. However, there _is_ time for me to get over there in person, so-”

“Yeah, fine.” Jess nods, only to get an expectant eyebrow raise in reply. _Oh, right._ “And, sure, you’ll get boss-lady rated overtime pay. ‘S my fault you have to go, anyway.”

“And the afternoon off when I’m done?”

“Unpaid, sure.” Her office manager can push all she wants; Jessica can only agree to so much though. “I mean, I can forward the office line to your phone if you want to pick up more hours, but you _are_ getting the rest of the day off after a cakewalk little consult, right?”

“I guess…” Gillian’s mouth pulls into a sideways pout before she huffs a little sigh. She stands, already shoving her tablet and pens into her bag, shrug draped over her arm. “And you _did_ give me all the doughnuts, so… I’ll see you on Wednesday, Jessica.”

“See ya Wednesday.” The day after tomorrow. Which is _Tuesday._ A day Jess already knows will be free if she needs to drown herself in misery. _Or Wild Turkey,_ but it’s a better idea to not dwell on _that,_ especially not when Gillian’s expression is already treading the line of quizzical and concerned.

“Are you sure you’re okay to take care of yourself?” Gillian pauses in the doorway, absently tucking her hair back and readjusting her earring. “I can come by if you want…?”

“No.” It’s snappier than necessary, gruff and pissy, and not at all the reassuring tone Jessica should be maintaining to set Gillian at ease and get her out of the office. “Look, I’ll be fine.” Jess plasters on her best beaming smile. “See? Fine.”

“Uh-huh.” Rolling her eyes, Gillian pulls the door closed as she mutters. “No dying before payday; I need that overtime, and you sign my cheques.”

Jessica _hmms_ an affirmative and reaches for her coffee. She doesn’t need to look good – or feel good, even – to clear out the day’s spam or sort through the meagre pile of mail on the corner of her desk. It’s boring as hell, but it’s a distraction; not a _good_ one, but she’ll take what she can get.

☕


	5. AKA Pour

☕

The stupid paper cup is still sitting on the corner of her desk. _Shit,_ it’s still half full of the coffee Jess has been too antsy to drink, still where it’s been sitting for eight goddamn hours. “Crap…” Jessica slumps forward, resting her cheek on the cool wood of her desk with a low groan. She finished the last of the office business just past noon. She ran out of new boot and jacket releases to consider just past two. _Fuck,_ Jessica ran out of things to _clean_ before dinner, and even cooking an _actual_ meal from scratch didn’t make enough mess to take more than a few minutes to clear away. As it is, Jess hasn’t really moved from her desk since six – _except once to pee_ – and she’s pretty much run out of things to keep her mind occupied. In the absence of anything else to do, her mind seems bent on betraying her, spiraling in on the thoughts she’s been avoiding since the previous afternoon, and Jessica’s too done to fight it anymore.

This realization centred on Claire Temple isn’t terrifying or gross or anything, just… Really fucking unexpected. _Especially now._ Most of it boils down to the fact that Jessica never really, well- That she never experimented or explored or… _Or whatever._ She might have thought about considering it – _maybe_ – but she’d brushed that aside pretty early on: Jessica Jones had been enough of a freak in high school already, she hadn’t needed to add being _Patsy’s sexually confused friend_ to that mix; hadn’t wanted to be anything but normal and or invisible in most of the years since, but – _Fuck it! –_ crazy or not, Trish might have at least known what to do about all of _this._

_Claire would know, too,_ but there’s no fucking way to ask her about a problem involving her and… and Jessica doesn’t have _that_ many friends; certainly not that she could talk to about this, anyway.

Even if she can ignore the whole _her and Claire being women thing_ – which is still landing halfway between _panic!_ and _huh?_ as far as _things_ go – Jessica can’t put aside that Claire is – _well_ – normal, or at least normal _ish;_ human the way people are _supposed_ to be, the way Jess hasn’t been in over a decade, and that brings a whole new wave of worries with it.

Because, yeah, Claire Temple is hot – and maybe Jess will dwell on how obviously correct that has always seemed as an opinion _later_ – but this isn’t _just_ about Claire being attractive. That wouldn’t be nearly so confusing; lust is one thing Jessica Jones has no trouble grasping or acting on. It’s just that – well – this thrumming anxiety isn’t _only_ about wanting to get Claire between the sheets, just like it isn’t purely the result of wondering what to do if Jessica actually could manage to get the other woman into her bed.

Jessica _likes_ Claire _like that_ , a truth nearly as novel as – and, in this moment, _arguably more_ _terrifying than_ – the whole _crush on a female friend_ part of all of this.

Because Jess is dangerous, and the people important to her – the ones she cares about, likes, loves, what have you – those are the people that end up hurt. Or dead. _Or_ _worse;_ often, if not always, _because_ of Jessica herself.

That’s one thing she knows for sure, and the one aspect of this they’ve talked about at length; Claire Temple has _history_ with powered people, and – though it involves at least one person Jess can argue has their life far more in order than she does – it’s not a good or _successful_ history. Nor is it a pattern Claire seems eager to repeat. Their whole- whole _friendship_ has grown largely from the fact that neither of them _wanted to be_ involved with the powered vigilante scene, but – _Damnit!_ – there Jess goes getting ahead of herself again; it doesn’t matter if Claire- er, if Jess- _Whatever,_ none of that matters anyway because Jessica _is_ still in the whole super street-justice scene, if only tangentially, and…

_And tonight’s walk isn’t gonna take itself._

She did promise Matt that she’d take a quick jog through his _turf,_ and it _is_ something else to do. Although, right now she’s sitting at her desk in her underwear; she needs pants before she gets out on the street. Jessica ferrets out her cleanest pair of jeans, grabbing her bag, a spare hair-tie, and her phone. Her mobile is worth carrying along, even if there’s a risk of breaking it. That she takes the time to type a few quick messages – or that she’s hoping for a reply while she’s out – doesn’t even enter into the equation; or, _at least,_ that’s what she tries to tell herself as she hits _send._ Jess pulls a hoodie on over her tank, shoves her feet into her Chuck Taylors, and locks the door.

☕☕☕

_**Jessica Jones – 08:15 pm  
**_ [ _i know i said tuesday but im gonna have to do afternoon or some time later if thats okay with you_ ] _ **  
**_[ _let me know if thats okay?_ ]

The message arrived well after Claire woke up, it’s just taken a while for her to get to the point where she could handle answering it. Which she _needs_ to do, if only to keep from being the _asshole friend_ again today. Claire can’t just leave Jessica hanging with a question like that. Later _is actually better_ in this case; meeting up with Jess after a good day’s sleep is easily preferable to getting together just as Claire’s coming off a full shift. Once she can get there – and get through it – Claire will at least know how much of the other woman’s presence she can still handle.

**_Claire – 09:45 pm  
_** [ _Sure. Sounds good._ ] _ **  
**_[ _I’m off Wednesday and Thursday, so later is fine with me._ ]

_It will be fine;_ Claire wants to believe that, but… Now that she’s admitted everything to herself, it’s time to figure out if this is something to even chance at mentioning to Jessica. She probably won’t flip out about Claire being bisexual. They might not have rehashed Claire’s history the way they have Jess’, but she doesn’t seem to be _that_ judgemental about anyone’s romantic choices, not unless they’re dangerous, and – even then – Jessica’s definition of _dangerous_ is kind of skewed to begin with, and none of Claire’s former girlfriends are likely to count as even _unnerving._ It’s more whether Claire is going to breach the whole _Jess being her most recent crush_ kind of thing; even if Claire can put that to bed, Jessica Jones makes no secret of being shit with anything feels-y.

_There are worse people,_ or at least _equally bad,_ and Claire has at least one such person on speed-dial, but… she would be putting Matt in an awfully awkward position if she called. This situation is just one more sign that, regardless of what happens, Claire needs to work on expanding her friend group; something she’ll start on as soon as she does what’s necessary to maintain the one she has. Right now, that means finishing her waffles and coffee and getting cleaned up.

_Although._ She really ought to check in with Matt, since he – _somehow_ – managed to get himself checked out in the brief few minutes she was off the hallway. Claire still has yet to meet this _Clinton Francis,_ and all she managed to get from her coworkers was that he was _kind of trashy hot,_ whatever the hell _that_ means.

_**Claire – 09:57 pm  
**_ [ _It’s been a full forty-eight. Are you concussed?_ ]

_**Matthew – 09:57 pm  
**_ [ _Barely even bleeding._ ]

Matt’s reply is a relief. He’s sensible enough to answer, and to remember their well-worn check-in code; that’s always a good thing. But it comes through so quickly that Claire has to wonder if he’s sitting on his phone. He saves her the trouble by confirming it a few seconds later.

_**Matthew – 09:58 pm  
**_ [ _Thought you might be Jessica._ ] _ **  
**_[ _She’s out on her own tonight, so I’m keeping the phone close._ ] _ **  
**_[ _How’s the break going?_ ]

_Well, shit._ That thought isn’t going to make it any easier to keep Jess off her mind tonight. Added to that, it might mean Claire will be seeing her sooner rather than later if Jessica manages to trip her way into more trouble. Now she at least knows not to wait on a quick reply, even if Claire will be dwelling on the possibility of Jess ending up in the hospital.

_**Claire – 09:59  
**_ [ _I’ll keep an eye out, then. Surprised Daniel wasn’t raring to go with her. You both rave about his enthusiasm._ ] _ **  
**_[ _And, really, what break can I have when you’re rolling up to my office every other day?_ ]  
[ _Also, when do I get to meet the mysterious Mr. Francis?_ ]

Matt’s reply is long in coming, so Claire sets her phone aside on the edge of the bathroom sink and steps into the shower. By the time his message arrives, she’s already clean and dressed, badge clipped onto her pocket and reaching for her shoes.

_**Matthew – 10:31  
**_ [ _Danny’s doing official business business, and you know she won’t ask Luke to help unless she has to._ ] _ **  
**_[ _Yeah, I mean, I want to actually introduce you to him and Steven, but maybe when you’re not so harried._ ] _ **  
**_[ _Little birdie told me you had a moment picking up your coffee this morning._ ]

_Shit,_ but Claire _hates it_ when Matt pulls stunts like that. He definitely wasn’t there, probably wasn’t even on the same block, but Matthew Murdock just _loves_ showing off sometimes. It shouldn’t still get to her, but Claire can’t help rankling a little at Matt knowing she lost her composure trying to get a coffee on her way home. She taps out a reply that does nothing to hide her saltiness.

_**Claire – 10:32  
**_ [ _Little birdie needs to mind his own business and take better care of himself._ ]

Claire silences her phone and slips it into her pocket. She has a bus to catch.

☕☕☕

Nothing’s happening tonight. _No. Things._ Or, well, nothing is happening out on the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, at least not anything that would warrant intervention or follow up. Jessica Jones gives zero fucks about whether some idiot is double parked in the side street by the Big Belly Burger; they’ll pay for their crime in indigestion. There’s plenty going on inside Jessica’s head as she climbs the stairs to her apartment, though; that is already nearly more than she can handle, so she’s not going to gripe about the lack of activity. She has enough to complain about, just no one to complain _to,_ mostly because there isn’t really anyone that could understand half of this shit, even if Jess felt safe unloading it. She closes the door behind her, flopping onto her office sofa to consider her options.

The list of enhanced people is short to begin with, those Jessica knows and can maybe talk to at two in the morning can be counted on less than two hands. Taking into account the ones that have successfully, um… romanced the unenhanced, and that list gets cut down to three… And Jessica can _not_ call Luke or Matt wondering how to ask their ex-girlfriend out. That would be crossing lines she didn’t even know she had, and this whole thing is already too close to blowing up one working relationship; Jess can’t afford to ruin two more over an out of the blue crush.

That leaves only her last resort; if _anyone_ might _get this,_ it would be him, and Jess really isn’t sure she can handle that earnestness, but… _Why not just go all in?_

There are a lot of reasons – starting with the fact that Jessica still isn’t sure she wants to tell _anyone_ – but that doesn’t mean he isn’t her best option; he’ll be awake, and he _owes_ her, anyway. She pushes back off the couch, snatching her keys up to lock the door behind her. Jessica’s scrolling before she reaches the stairs, thumb flying past the names – _Big Birb, Baby Birb, Deathclaw –_ running right past _Red and Red Scare,_ but going too far, reaching _SpooderBabb_ before she can stop. Jessica hits the first floor faster than she plans to, shoulder slamming into the back exit door. She almost trips into the narrow alleyway between her building and the next. Her hand is shaking, and – for a moment – she can hear the echo of street names between her ears. Jess slams her thumb against the screen and starts walking. By the time the line starts ringing, she’s at the closest she regularly gets to a run.

_Funny shit._

Jessica nearly chokes on her tongue when the call connects.

“ _This is-”_

“Hey, Stagger.” Jessica coughs, but manages to speak. “Meet me at- oh, fuck, at the park on far side of Singstad Road in – I dunno – like two hours? I’m calling in that favour.” She hangs up before he has time to reply. _Not the best idea,_ considering that he tends to overreact, but – _Fuck it_ – this is pretty damn world-shattering for her, so a serious response might not be the worst thing. Two hours is enough time, if she hoofs it, and she’s wearing her all-stars, so it’s doable. The bus might get her there faster, but Jessica has always found comfort in pacing, and walking is just pacing with a direction. Plus, she’s still at a jog anyway, and it won’t hurt to practice running toward things instead of away from them.

☕☕☕

There was a time when Jessica didn’t fully understand the range of Matt’s ears, but now that he’s prone to bunking over at either of his boyfriends’ places, his auditory hot zone is just too unpredictable for her liking. That combined with her need to walk – and what will probably remain a long-held distaste for busses – is why four fifteen finds her waiting by the war memorial in Hamilton Park. Well, those two things, and the fact that the memorial went up in between the world wars, which should lessen the chance that the man she’s waiting on will get lost trying to find it.

A motorcycle engine slows to an idle and cuts off in the distance, allaying that fear even as it draws another to the surface. This is a _thing,_ and Jessica is about to _tell someone;_ she can’t back out either, not now that they’re both in New Jersey at stupid o’clock in the morning. Not when she’s already worn out, and he’s comparatively so much better at running. Jess fists her hands on the fence-rail, spine rigid, and waits.

For once, she has some warning before her company arrives, the steady sound of footsteps echoing behind her a pleasant contrast to the usual sneaky-surprise appearances Jess has come to expect from mystics and martial artists and bug-boys. She keeps her eyes on the river, but Steve Roger’s bulk still slides into view in her periphery as he settles his arms on the guardrail. “So what’s this about?”

“You owe me, and -” Jessica cuts herself off, lip caught in her teeth as she stares at the skyline. If they were on a through street talking about work – or hell – if they were in Barton’s apartment bitching about movies – this would be a hell of a lot easier, but… Well, he’s here now, head tipped in question and looking like the goddamn poster boy that he is. Jess sighs, takes a deep breath, and tries again. “And I need to talk.”

“Before sun up? In _Weehawken?”_ Steve snorts, not quite scoffing, but completely failing to hide his smirk. “You don’t _look_ injured, so – again – what about?”

“You and Clint? And maybe Matt? Fuck it; I don’t know, I…” Jessica leans back from the railing, hands shoving into her pockets as she turns away. She doesn’t wait for him to catch up, just like she doesn’t worry about whether he can hear as she asks, “Can we keep walking?”

“Sure.” With a longer stride and a penchant for cardio, Steve has no trouble catching up to and matching her pace as they go, the river on her left and him on the right. “You walked?”

“I had to _run_ some of it, but I had a lot to think about, and I couldn’t just pace all night; I have neighbours.” Plus, it wasn’t like she hadn’t planned to put foot to pavement, anyway. It was easier with a destination in mind – sure – but Jessica is at loose ends now.

Beside her, Steve speeds just enough to get a few steps ahead. “I thought- Well, considering how long you’ve known, and that you kind’ve _encouraged it,_ I figured you were okay with the three of us _being the three of us.”_

Jessica is left to blink back at him, watching his face edge from hangdog towards disappointed scowl. She’s hardly firing on all cylinders, so it takes a minute before she connects his answer to her question; she’s talking to _Captain Worst Case Scenario,_ which means three and three come out as twenty-seven. “Oh, no,” what _she_ means is, “this is stupid, but it- it’s been a very long time since I asked someone out, Stagger, and I thought…”

“Oh, Jessica…” There’s something in his tone, in the way Steve’s face goes florid at the edges around an enthused smile that makes her stomach lurch.

“What, no, not _you-!”_

“Of course, not, but you’re _telling_ me.” It’s a very good thing that he works in a cowl because Steve Rogers has all the emotional subtlety of a fist to the face. “It’s flattering to know. Who’s the lucky soul?”

“So, um… Claire?”

“Oh?” Steve draws the question out, eyes widening, face tilting to the side.

“Right?” She’s still shocked, too. “I mean, I haven’t really _dated_ anyone since Luke, and that makes it _worse-”_

Steve hasn’t stopped tipping his head in her periphery, looking more and more like a confused and excited dog, which is making Jessica question why- _Shit, right,_ there’s that whole _other realization_ to contend with, too; which is – Jessica has to remind herself – part of the whole reason Steve made it to the top of the list in the first place. “Oh, yeah, that… That kinda surprised me, too, but – _screw it_ – in the grand scheme of _unexpected life crap,_ that lands lower on the list than _waking up and being able to punch through walls._ Bigger club, at least?”

“So, congratulations? Or…?”

“Yeah, sure, ok-” Jessica’s words – and _breathing_ – are cut off as she’s yanked into a crushing hug. “Th-thanks.”

“‘m so proud of you, Jessica.” A pride Steve seems to find best expressed by turning a half twirl and refusing to put her down. “An’ thrilled ya trusted me enough to say so.”

He’s sweet, really, but Jessica likes life better with air in her lungs and her feet on the ground. She squirms partially free of Steve’s grip, taking a large step away once he finally gets the hint and sets her down, still beaming like a moron. _Great;_ at least one of them is happy. “Seriously, who else was I going to talk to?” Jessica shakes her head as she sees him open his mouth. “Not about the whole _whatever;_ about asking Claire out? I... have no idea what I’m doing.”

Steve’s smile twists into a rye grin as he chuckles. “And you called _me?”_

Jessica can only shrug at him as she plops down onto a park bench. Matt’s been another shoulder for Jess to lean on, a good check in friend now that Trish is gone, but not this time. She and Malcolm are, as much as they can be, _strictly_ business partners. Gillian is helpful and supportive and nosey as fuck. “There really wasn’t anyone else who came to mind? And I had the best shot of you being awake?”

Steve plunks down beside her, elbows braced on his knees, and nods. “True, but you _know_ I am not the best at this; hell, _everyone_ knows that.”

“Yeah, but…” _But_ if Steve _Super-not Subtle_ Rogers could manage to get _two_ people not only to date him, but to agree to something like a long and stable relationship, then there’s got to be some kind of hope for her. Or, at a bare minimum, some secret he could offer Jessica for not fucking up because, “Look, yes, I _know_ how awful you are at not being a romantic catastrophy, but you _still_ managed to get things going with asking out Clint _and_ Matt.”

“Asking is… maybe not the word. Or the action.” Few people – up to and including Jess herself – would imagine that Steve Rogers could manage to sound that self-deprecating. “Honestly, why not ask Bucky? He’s… _always_ been better about getting a yes from the ladies.”

“I have heard Jamie’s matchmaking cat from hell story and- First off, neither of us has pets, but, second, Claire won’t think it’s _endearing_ if I start randomly stealing her clothes and sleeping in her bed when she’s at work.” She leans in to nudge him with her elbow. “I _know_ you took Matt on a test date.”

“Clint did more of the asking with Matt…” Steve trails off. “I mean, if you’re too nervous, ask Clint to do it. That’s what I did.”

“But didn’t you get _Clint_ to date you?”

“Neither of us asked the other out, though. He dragged me to a pizza place in Brooklyn.” Steve reaches a hand over to pat her knee. “I’m sorry, Jessica; I don’t know what to tell you.”

_So much for the man with the plan._ It _would_ work out that Steve was just a lucky asshole this time, too. _Shit._ Sure, he’s being supportive, and that’s awesome – _Really, it is_ – but Jessica’s still left without any real sense of _how_ to go about doing this whole stupid thing. For fuck’s sake, one of the last guy she brought home flirted his way in by offering her the perfect cheeseburger; Jess is garbage at healthy relationships in general and romantic ones in specific, and all she has to go on is a heaping pile of encouragement and the well-known fact that Clint Barton likes pizza. _Good, brilliant,_ might as well say that Steve’s boyfriend likes coffee, or- _Wait…_ “Clint likes pizza.”

“Who doesn’t?” quips the man to her right, but Jessica’s a little too caught up in her head to answer right now; or, well, to answer with anything that sounds relatively cogent, as opposed to the ramblings of a crazy woman.

It _can’t_ be that simple, right? There’s bound to be a catch, some detail she’s missing that will set this whole emotional powder keg off, but, “Claire likes coffee.”

“Uh… good?”

“Yes, good; low stakes, lots of exits.” Which means _that_ is settled, and that, even unwittingly, Steve’s managed to come through and maybe save Jessica from herself. “Thank you, that’s actually very helpful.”

“And the rest of it? You’re good there? _That_ I might could’a helped with. I – well-” Steve taps his hand against his shirt-pocket; the spiral binding of the tiny tablet he keeps there is just barely visible. “I did a lot of reading when I got up here, and it seems like it’s not unusual for people that are bi- or pansexual to come out later.”

“You know what, that actually is the least of a _thing_ about this whole thing? Because I really don’t care.” Except when she does; the brief few moments since she _realized_ that still leave Jess feeling like she’s got a nauseating case of vertigo. She can feel the grimace pulling at her mouth even now as she continues, “Not that I don’t _care,_ just – look – in the whole bigger picture of crap, it seems less… _dire?_ Like, I can work that out as I go, maybe? If this, ya know, _goes_ anywhere?”

“Ah.” Steve Rogers doesn’t look pleased by her obviously bullshit answer, but he lets it slide. “Well, it sounds like you’ve got this settled then?”

“Yeah. As much as it’s gonna be.” Without anything else on her mind, Jess is left at a loss; she isn’t sure what to do as she stands, other than toe at the ground and let her hands slip into her pockets. “But, yeah; and thanks. I mean it.”

“Going somewhere?”

_Not really._ It’s dumbass o’clock, but it is also Tuesday, so – at least until this evening, Jessica has nowhere to be. “Home, I guess?”

“That’s a long walk.” And _that_ is the concerned, slightly pushy _Cap-_ voice coming out of Steve’s mouth. He stands from his slouch on the bench, nodding in the opposite direction. “Want a lift?”

“Only if I get dibs on the helmet.”

“Helmet?” Steve dodges her elbow, smile sharp-edged and taunting, already walking toward where he’s parked. “I’m kidding. I brought a spare.”

“Spare helmet or spare bike?” It’s not a dumb question. Jessica’s not only seen the news footage, she’s seen him in action and knows for a fact; Steve Rogers can drive, but he can’t fucking _stop,_ not without something like a wall or another car to assist him. She hurries to catch up to him, aiming another elbow his way for good measure. “And I’m driving.”

“Spare helmet, and do you _even_ have a license?”

“Do I need a license to _crash?_ Did you get yours special, Stagger?”

Steve barks out a laugh, head shaking. “Who said _I_ have a license?”

“Exactly; so let me drive.”

☕☕☕

The sun is already crawling it’s way up the edge of the horizon by the time they stop in front of her building. Steve got them back to the city at a _near-literal_ breakneck speed, but he wanted to stop for pre-breakfast, and – well – karma’s a bitch sometimes; whoever that was double parked at Big Belly, they’ve got a nice dent in their bumper now, courtesy of Captain Crashing is Stopping. _Oopsies,_ but – hey – that’s what the helmets are for, right? And, even with the beginnings of a beard leaving him a little scruffy, Steve’s hangry glare is still enough to make most people piss themselves, so it wasn’t a problem.

The only _problem_ right now is that this goodbye hug of his has been lasting too long since one second after it began. Jessica pushes Steve away, simultaneously taking a purposeful step back towards the apartment building’s main door. “Yes, okay, glad you’re happy for me, but I gotta sleep. See you for movie night next week.”

“With a full report?” Muffled by the visor though it might be, Steve’s voice still carries a smile, even with the motorcycle helmet on.

“Yup.” Not that there’s likely to be all that much to report, other than whether her plan is a success. It’s not a good plan – Grab Claire, get coffee, and call it a date at the end. – but it is _a_ plan, and that’s more than Jessica had when she left. She offers a last wave – “See ya.” – before stepping into the lobby, nearly running into Malcolm as she does. “Oh, hey; you’re up late.”

“It’s after six, Jessica.” Malcolm looks, as always, mildly concerned, eyes flicking over her shoulder as the motorcycle engine revs in the street before fading away. He tilts his head, voice carrying only the barest hint of judgement. Coming from him, it’s practically approving. “Please don’t tell me you are just now getting in?”

“‘Kay, won’t tell you.” Jess steps around him, swallowing down a yawn as she steps forward into the waiting elevator. She’s been too long awake, spent too many hours racking her brain over this. So, as it turns out, Jessica Jones _does_ have an appointment this morning, a lengthy meeting with her bed and – since she actually wants to _stay_ asleep – a pair of earplugs as she bunks down with the comforter over her head.

☕☕☕

Alias Investigations is closed today, but it’s eight-fifty-three; Claire knows that Jess would usually be up, if only so she can get her morning coffee. Jessica sent her a text at six-thirty – [ _see you tonight sleep well be there at seven_ ] – so Claire knows she’s awake, and can guess that Jess is probably here, since they didn’t cross paths on her way back from getting coffee. Now Jessica Jones won’t even have to get coffee for herself; all she’ll have to do is answer her door. She might have asked to meet for coffee later, but she never said anything about Claire dropping coffee off on her way home.

It’s a paltry justification – a pathetic one – but Claire’s feeling a little brave – a little _reckless_ – and a coffee run is an _easy_ excuse, one that comes with a built-in opening to leave if things get… weird. If things get _anything;_ if Jess will answer. Claire knocks again, as loudly as she dares. It _is_ not even nine yet. She might expect Jessica to be up, but that doesn’t mean Claire wants to wake up the whole building. She raps against the glass of the door again, voice a hiss. “Jessica…”

“Ma’am, we’re closed, but you can come back tomorrow?” offers a man behind her, and Claire whirls around to see Jessica’s business partner poking his head from an adjacent door. “Or I can schedule an appointment, if that would be more convenient?”

“You’re…” Crap; Claire’s seen him plenty, but they’ve never formally met. “Malcolm, right?”

“Yes…” He leans further into the hallway, arms crossed. “And you are?”

“Sorry, Claire; I’m a friend of Jessica’s?” Claire lifts the cup carrier and bag of crullers, as if _those_ will add more sense to her answer.

It seems to work; Malcom eyes the cup, recognition sparking in his expression as he nods. “Coffee Shop Claire?”

_Honestly,_ that’s far from the weirdest moniker she’s been given by a friend, so, “Yup. She cancelled this morning, but I thought I’d run some by.”

“Nice of you, but Jessica’s probably dead to the world right now.” Malcolm offers an apologetic tip of his head, smile sheepish and a little indulgent. “She only got home from her date maybe two hours ago. You have her coffee order memorized, so you know how Jess is.”

“Oh…” Date? _Unlikely,_ given Jessica’s habits, but she did say they ought to meet later. And, even if she made an attempt at setting those thoughts aside, Claire _does know_ how Jess is; casual to a fault, whether it regards her wardrobe or her relationships, and Matt did say she’d have the night to herself. That Jessica Jones took advantage of free time for a hookup shouldn’t be unexpected, unlike the hot rush of jealousy through Claire’s mind. “Yeah, well, she said she’d be _busy.”_

“Did you want me to drop it off to her? I can, if you-”

Clearly, Jessica got her _coffee_ somewhere else this morning. Claire sets her jaw, grinding out a brief response – “It’s fine. Her loss, right?” – before turning to walk back toward the elevator.

“Want me to tell her you stopped by?” Jessica’s partner asks after her.

“No need.” Claire is already stepping into the lift. “Have a good morning.”

The door closes, muting whatever reply she might have received, and Claire slumps into the back wall of the lift car. This – the coffee, the planning, the _feelings-!_ – _all of this_ was a mistake, and a damnably stupid one. She should have known better than to get this invested, and now Jessica has gone and just _been Jessica_ , and Claire is about to start crying over it in this rickety piece of shit elevator.

Claire can’t do this. _Any of it._ She can’t keep this stupid hope alive, but she can’t let it go either; she sure as shit can’t even consider seeing Jessica Jones again right now, probably not today and possibly not ever. What she can do is go home, go to sleep, and blot out the disappointment, at least for a few hours. Then Claire can think of a solution, something actionable, something better than hoping Jessica doesn’t notice tonight. Something more sensible than hoping that she _does._

Claire sets her shoulders as the elevator door slides away, stride the only thing she can keep steady as she walks out through the narrow lobby. She drops the coffee, tray and doughnuts and all, into a trashcan as she turns toward her own apartment, wishing it was that easy to let go of other things.

☕


	6. AKA Serve

☕

For once, Jessica doesn’t regret the events that lead to her waking up with her face smashed into the self-made puddle on her pillow. It’s a hopeful sort of morning, er- No, her bedside clock is telling her that it’s a hopeful sort of _afternoon,_ but – _hell_ – still good. Except for the fact that her face is crusty, and her hair’s still a mess… and she kind of reeks after trekking to New Jersey last night. Jessica Jones definitely needs a shower. _And a haircut._ It’s only a bit past two; she has a pair of scissors and a mirror, and plenty of time to try and get it professionally done if she makes it too much worse.

Levering out of bed, Jessica snags her phone and shuffles back into her office, bypassing pants and that shower to go straight for the day-old paper cup full of coffee still sitting next to her keyboard. One benefit of foregoing milk or sugar is that it’s still potable; cold and a bit sludgy, but as delightfully strong as ever. Perching on the edge of her desk, Jess unlocks her phone, thumbing through the morning’s messages.

 _ **Stagger – 06:48  
**_[ _I park just fine when there’s not some jackass in the middle of the road._ ] _ **  
**_ [ _201905210644-01.jpg attached_ ] _ **  
**_ [ _I mean it. Full Report._ ]

 _ **Red – 06:55  
**_[ _Cheeseburgers are a great breakfast, and the scent of cheesy garlic fries is just the BEST smell to accompany a good morning kiss._ ] _ **  
**_

_**Big Birb – 06:56  
**_[ _You two got burgers without me after I brought you coffee and doughnuts?_ ] _ **  
**_ [ _I can be loud, too, and I love food._ ] _ **  
**_ [ _#wounded #cruelfate #ithoughtwewerefriends_ ]

Jessica chuckles, scrolling through the subsequent messages from Matt and Clint, knowing they never stop at just one message.

 _ **Big Birb – 07:19  
**_[ _Should I be worried about checking the news? Someone is inordinately happy this morning, and the headlight on his bike is broken._ ]

 _ **Red – 07:30  
**_[ _Are you alright? What did you two crash into?_ ]

 _ **Red – 08:07  
**_[ _Did a quick walk-by. Didn’t realize you were sleeping._ ]

He’s a good friend, but Matt is also a hovering busybody some days. Of course, she doesn’t have to answer him, so Jessica goes back to her message list, scrolling down to one that was at least sent at a more decent hour.

 _ **Malcolm – 10:43  
**_[ _Gillian has sent me eight messages asking if I’ve seen you and how your eye is. (She knows we’re not your parents, right?) Either way, please tell her you are well enough to go out, just so she knows you’re not dead._ ] _ **  
**_ [ _Although, passing along messages from your friends isn’t helping my case._ ] _ **  
**_ [ _Either way, you missed out on free coffee this morning because of your little “coffee-run” last night._ ]  
[ _She seems normal. I was surprised._ ]

 _Huh._ Another coffee run-by is unexpected, especially from someone Jessica has feared was close to unfriending her. That offers another sliver of a chance that her whole _not-really-a-plan_ plan might work, right? _Possibly maybe?_ Either way, she might as well reply to Malcolm; no point in him getting more forehead elevens with his _concerns._

 _ **J.J. – 15:04  
**_[ _that was a friend not a FRIEND like id ever get COFFEE with him his boyfriends would be so fucking upset and he would never want to anyway also hes kinda like family so major squick_ ] _ **  
**_ [ _you met claire when was she by???_ ]

Now that she’s answered Malcolm’s subtle query and asked a few of her own, Jessica can get back to the important matter of figuring out whether she should do the haircut first and then change, or get ready and then just stay out.

Although, Malcolm’s little curiosity about Steve does bring up the issue of Jessica having told someone about her, admittedly, pretty garbage plan. A necessary idea to get up her nerve, but one that she still knows was, just like the rest of her ideas for the day, not very well thought out. Jess’ll be lucky if every rando in the city doesn’t know about her crush within a week given the way Stagger leaks secrets like a sieve, and, well… _Shit;_ that’s one way to motivate herself to actually go through with it. Better that Claire shoot her down and say she _hates her_ to Jessica’s face, instead of hearing it from Daredevil the next time he winds up bleeding all over her again.

Jessica chugs the last of her cold coffee, then reaches into her desk drawer for her scissors. There are plenty of tutorials for this sort of thing online, and she’s not meeting Claire until tonight. If she can’t even it out, at least it’ll be dark when Jess leaves, and she can always wear a hat… in the middle of May.

Jess grabs her laptop and heads for the bathroom; she needs a mirror for this.

☕☕☕

Claire needs to get up; she’s been asleep all day. Well – _no_ – she’s been _in bed_ since her failed drop-off this morning, but hardly sleeping; the majority of her last ten hours – _really?!_ – have been spent flopped across her bed in a bathrobe and socks, trying vainly not to think. _At all._

 _So much for a day off._ Claire might as well have pulled an extra shift. She would have at least gotten paid for her trouble in money instead of anxiety and a headache. Now she’s exhausted _and_ nervous, vaguely nauseated in anticipation of what she knows is coming.

 _ **Jessica – 04:15 pm  
**_[ _oops gotta get a haircut see you at 7 kay_ ]

But she is now, and she _has_ to do this. Claire stares at the screen and wills her fingers to type something – _[Sure.]_ – before immediately deleting it, if for no other reason that it’s a total lie: Claire Temple isn’t _sure_ about anything right now; not when she feels ready to vomit; not Jessica is texting her like nothing’s wrong. Which, well, maybe it isn’t? Maybe Jessica’s neighbour and coworker is wrong, or maybe Claire’s overthinking this whole thing. Or, crap, maybe this _is_ normal – for Jess, if not for her – and maybe Claire should have _known_ better, should have cut ties weeks ago when this stupid idea first flitted through her brain; she should have walked out of Jessica’s apartment and just not looked back, except-

 _Except she didn’t,_ and now it’s five-forty-two, and Claire’s nearly just dropped her phone onto her own face. And she _still_ hasn’t managed to text Jessica back. _Screw it._

 _ **C.T. – 05:42  
**_[ _Meet you there at seven._ ]

Neither too friendly nor too cold; it’s a message with nothing to betray how conflicted Claire is over agreeing to this at all. She needs a plan, a reasonable out if things get to be too much. Maybe Claire was wrong to share her schedule with Jessica. Jess _knows_ she has tomorrow off from work, and Claire can’t blame her night job either. Jessica is just as likely to get a call as she is, and – even if Claire could chance lying to her – she can’t rely on whomever she blames for her leavetaking to back her up, not without some sort of explanation. That automatically cuts out blaming it on Matt stubborning himself into the hospital, and it’s not like Luke really needs her kind of assistance. Danny _might_ be able to keep a secret, but – with how much he tends toward overbearing optimism – it’s just as likely that he’d be _encouraging._

 _Screw it;_ Claire can think of something in the next… _Shit,_ at this point, she’s got an hour if she’s lucky. Hopefully, things will look better on the other side of a hot shower and clean clothes, even if it will mean putting off washing her hair until tomorrow. Claire pushes herself up off the bed, tossing her robe back onto the sheets behind her and padding into her bathroom.

☕☕☕

Claire is starting to wonder if maybe she won’t go after all. She shouldn’t stand Jessica up – even if she _should_ ignore the other implications of that phrase – but it might be her best option. The sky is darkening early, and the low cloud cover could mean rain. That would be an acceptable excuse; after all, it _would_ have ruined her hair if she’d bothered to do anything besides run a brush through it and hope. _Maybe,_ if Claire is lucky, it will start raining and she can beg off to yet a later date; _day,_ a later day.

It’s a little bit of a shame – she’s clean, dressed, and has nearly managed to psych herself up to walk out of her apartment – but Claire is still weighing a lie as an option when the buzzer beside her door rings, startling her out of her daze to fumblingly toggle the button and answer. “Yes?”

 _“Hey… I’m, uh, downstairs, so…”_ Jessica’s voice trails off in time with the sinking of Claire’s stomach. _“I’ll just meet you down here?”_

 _Shit!_ This was not- Jessica Jones is _not_ supposed to be _here._ Claire isn’t prepped for any of whatever this is, but a lack of readiness hasn’t done all that much to stop her before. She nods, only afterward remembering that she needs to press the intercom button to respond because Jess can’t see her. “Sure; be down in a few.”

Claire pats her pockets for her wallet and phone, hand clenching on her keys. She takes one last deep breath – slow inhale and huffed exhale – and steps out into the hallway. She can do this, whether she wants to or not, and Jessica is waiting for her, not just figuratively, but very literally; standing with her hands in her pockets on the apartment building’s stoop, half turned away as if she’s watching something interesting and invisible in the middle of the street. “Hello, Jessica.”

“Hey!” Jess’ single syllable response slides from exuberant to embarrassed as she turns, offering a sickly smile as she steps into the lobby. “I… yeah, so, hey.”

Well, that’s _weird,_ but what hasn’t been in the last day… week… few years of Claire’s life… Her arms cross out of habit as Claire leans back into the mailboxes and asks, “What are you doing _here?”_

“I know I said seven, and – yeah – I’m early, but your place was on the way, so I thought, you know…” Jessica shrugs as her words trail off. “If you were still here, I figured we could walk? To get coffee? Together?”

“Because you didn’t get enough _coffee_ this morning?” slips out before Claire can stop herself, and even she is taken aback by how judgmental she sounds right now.

Confusion – or is that hurt? – flickers across Jessica’s face. “I haven’t had any all day. I mean, except for leftovers from yesterday, but… Are you pissed at me?”

 _Crap._ “No. Just disappointed in myself.”

“Why?”

There’s too much to unload for Claire to have any chance of answering that deceptively simple question. Jessica’s blinking back at her from just inside the doorway, her elbow grasped in her hand and looking almost lost, but Claire just doesn’t have the energy to be the reliable friend tonight; or the any sort of _friend,_ now or into the future. She might as well end the evening before it starts. Coming off as a flakey bitch has got to be better than looking like a twitterpaited idiot. “Jess, I know we agreed, but it’s late, and I- Can we reschedule?”

“Well… okay, yeah, but look, um, this might sound stupid or whatever, and – I mean – maybe not tonight, but do you…” Jessica toes the old terrazzo floor, sneaker tracing the seam where one colour meets the other. “Do you want to grab a coffee with me some time, but – like – not for work or check-ins or whatever?”

“More coffee?”

“Um… yeah? Grab a cup and maybe hang out again?”

Claire hasn’t really been listening so much as looking for an exit from the one-sided conversation, but there’s just _something_ about Jessica’s tone of voice; the way she’s standing there with her chin up but her eyes tipped down, it’s… It’s not the guilt Claire’s come to expect when Jessica’s done something stupid, and it’s not her regular exasperated petulance either. Jessica Jones looks _nervous,_ and that alone sets Claire on edge as she asks. “Hang out?”

“Like we were doing? Or – fuck it – I don’t know!” Jess turns away toward the door with a huff. Arms tightly crossed and back rigid, she tilts her head up toward the ceiling, noticeably shorter hair just whisking her shoulders. She must find whatever she’s looking for; she nods to herself as she turns, walking the few steps back to where Claire is standing. Jess drops her hands into her pockets as she asks. “We could, like, walk around together or go someplace?”

“Jessica…?” Coming from anyone else, Claire would have noticed some clue, might have seen a hint is what she thinks is happening, but this is Jess, and _nothing_ involving her ever seems to go as _expected._ This, though…? _This-_ This moment of a friend asking to spend more time with her – awkwardly, in fumbling, disjointed fits and starts – really, there are only two ways Claire can read it. The first is obvious; Jessica has finally caught on to Claire’s avoidance of their meet-ups.

The second isn’t something that has even crossed her mind – mostly because she would have said it wasn’t a possibility. Jessica Jones is her friend, so she would have told- Or maybe she wouldn’t; Claire certainly hasn’t mentioned her preferences in the _months_ they’ve been meeting. She hasn’t heard Jessica talk about seeing anyone else, either, and if she _did_ hook up with someone last night, Jess would usually have led with that. She knows it’s stupid, even if some tiny part of her is still hopeful – but now Claire Temple finds herself voicing the, frankly, ridiculous thought. “Are you asking me out?”

“Would it matter if I was?” Jessica snaps back, only to stomp her foot into the floor in frustration. “Shit! I mean- Yes.” Jessica stares back at her, jaw set tightly, as Claire tries to keep even a tenuous hold on her raving thoughts.

That was not supposed to be the question, and this was _not_ supposed to be the answer, and that tiny sliver of hope Claire’s clung to for so long is shrieking away any and all of her sense. It’s a struggle to remember how to move her mouth to speak, and, even when she manages it, Claire forces out nothing past a single confused, “Yes?”

“Yes.” Jessica shifts her weight, her voice is surer, if not louder. “I am asking you out.”

“You are?”

“I am _trying,_ okay? You can just say you’re not interested.” Jess cards her fingers through her hair, head shaking as she shuffles back. “Look, I’ll just leave-”

This time, Claire honestly does know better – she’s only human, while Jessica Jones is dangerously more – but she moves anyway, reaching for Jessica’s wrist, keeping her there in the lobby. “Are you serious?”

“Of course, I am,” Jessica huffs, “but it’s not like I’ve ever done this, okay?”

“Never?” Claire had been fairly certain of the answer to that question, but it’s not less shocking when she’s right, surprising and strangely flattering to know that _she_ was worth Jessica stepping outside of her well-established pattern. Caught up in her own bubbling giddiness, Claire nearly misses the other woman’s shoulders drooping, that stubborn clenching of her jaw.

“Yeah, never, alright?” Jessica Jones snaps back at her, yanking free of Claire’s hold. She draws her arms in as she turns away, shoving back through the security door, voice harsh and cracking. “And _fuck me_ for trying. Goodnight.”

“Jessica-!” _Shit!_ She wasn’t expecting this to happen _at all_ – not ever, let alone _here and now_ – but Claire isn’t going to just let Jess walk out after a revelation like _that._ She lunges, managing to snag the leather cuff of Jessica’s jacket. “Hey!”

“Let go of me-!” Jess snatches her arm away and rounds on Claire, one foot already on the stoop, cheeks flushed and eyes wet.

“Wait!” Claire takes a small step back, eyes on Jessica’s face as she tries to think of anything to get Jess to stand still and calm down. “Wait. I- Yes, I’d like to get coffee, just…” Just _what?_ Just that Claire needs a minute to hyperventilate? Squeak? Run back upstairs and hide? That last one is maybe not the worst idea, actually. There’s got to be something in her apartment that she needs, if only to duck out and give herself time to remember how to breathe and think simultaneously. Claire fumbles out a request that might be a passable excuse. “Just let me get my umbrella, okay?”

Jessica at least stops looking quite so angry, face drifting more towards a blank sort of confusion as she asks, “What?”

“My umbrella.” What Claire Temple _actually_ needs is a moment apart from the woman still gawking at her in this fluorescent lit lobby so she can get back to making coherent sentences. “For rain. While we get coffee.”

“We’re getting coffee?” Jessica parrots back to her.

Claire nods. She’s halfway to turning, ready to head up the stairs, when she wonders; will Jess even still _be_ here if she leaves? Because Jessica has just put herself out there – clearly not expecting anything to come of it – after having been ghosted for weeks. Claire’s lucky Jess is even _speaking_ to her, and she’d be foolish to walk away just to settle herself; there’s no guarantee Jessica Jones would be here when she got back. She’s still too nervous to look right at her, but Claire can glance over Jessica’s shoulder and nod toward the doorway. “You know, it’s alright; I’ve got a hood.”

☕

“Um…Yeah, me, too.” Jessica knows that was a dumb, dumb, sentence, but she can’t bring herself to care. Claire said yes? Claire said _yes._ Jess hadn’t expected more than a door closing in her face, had barely hoped for anything past a polite _no,_ at best, a reluctant _maybe,_ but that had been- Fuck, that had been awkward and painful and clumsy and _yes and-!_

Claire’s giving her a sideways smile that might be mocking – _not too bad_ – or might be nervous – _that’s better, maybe? –_ as she asks, “So, coffee?”

“Yeah, I mean, yes. Coffee.” Those are the only words – barely cogent enough to be sentences – that Jessica manages to force out, but they at least work. Claire nods, clearly expecting her to go first, so Jess does, slipping out through the lobby door and into the street, hands in her pockets as they start off on their first – and, _shit,_ actually happening going-out-type thing.

Their trip is just a few blocks of walking – one she’s taken dozens of times alone and with the woman beside her – but, still, it’s a _lot_ right now. With both hands shoved into the pockets of her coat, and ignoring the slight after-tingle of Claire’s grasp on her wrist, Jessica squares her shoulders and starts walking as her- date? _Yeah, date_ falls into step next to her. For a few moments, she treats it like any other post-work coffee run, until she can wrap her brain around the fact that it isn’t; that it’s fundamentally changed and – _actually_ – she’s pretty fucking happy about it. Or, well, at least she isn’t going to bolt, even if she _is_ ready to, all set with her tennis shoes just in case. Jessica chances a quick look to her right only to see Claire cut her eyes away, now looking straight ahead. _Well…_ “So why were you mad?”

“Mad?” Claire turns as she walks, blinking and confused.

“Or, uh, disappointed?” She might have said it was about her, but Jessica has heard those words and tone before. Claire means well – Claire has to, to have agreed to something like this with someone like her. Jessica isn’t so stupid as to think that Claire’s forgotten how absolutely shit she is at relationships in general and romance in particular. This could very well turn out to be some sort of pity date; it wouldn’t be the first time Jess had gotten one, and Claire would be nice enough to do it – but Jessica needs to know if that’s the truth, or if Claire is just trying to avoid pointing out one of her uncountably regular fuck-ups. Jess re-glues her eyes to the sidewalk. “Was it because of me?”

“No-! I mean, for a second, but mostly me, and…” Claire trails off, voice edging towards a whisper. “I had a really weird morning, and it threw me off.”

“Yeah… I get that. I- I needed a pep talk, so I was out late.” So late that she missed her chance to see Claire this morning, but maybe that’s better. Some things, especially flawed ones – _Like me._ – look better in low light. Still, Claire did go out of her way this morning; Jessics should acknowledge that. “Malcom said you came by while I was asleep.”

“For…?”

“Like nine hours, but-

“No.” Claire interrupts, head tilting slightly. “What did you need the pep talk for?”

“Umm…” It’s still a little embarrassing, and Jessica doesn’t want to go into too much explanation if she doesn’t have to. “This…?”

“Why?”

“Well, it’s not like I’ve exactly done _this_ before, ya know?” _How many times will she have to say that?_

“Oh…” Something like understanding sparks behind Claire’s eyes before her lips press thin, fresh discomfort evident on her face. “Malcolm said you were on a date.”

“What?! No!” Jessica takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly through her nose. She wants to scream, but that doesn’t mean she should. She spent the morning with the loudest human on the planet; that doesn’t mean Jessica needs to start shouting like him. “No, that was my buddy Stagger, er- Steve.”

They’re one intersection from their destination as Claire comes to a full, abrupt stop beside her, so quickly that it takes Jessica a few steps to slow down and turn, she’s so focused on keeping her own pace steady and even.

Behind her, Claire Temple is wide-eyed and incredulous, voice trembling and a little reedy as she asks. _“Sturdy_ Steve? _Matt’s Sturdy Steven Steve_?”

“Yeah?”

Beside her, Claire’s tremulous wibbles warp into an almost manic, squeaked out laugh before she slams her hand over her mouth, stifling her giggles, but barely; she leaves Jessica at a loss, unsure whether she needs to defend herself or just let Claire have a moment.

“Look, just, he’s good with -” encouraging speeches that he literally filmed, and – “Steve’s a good friend, but – you know – we’re not _dating_ … He’s just very -” _unaware of personal space boundaries –_ “touchy-feely. He was, umm…” Jessica is tempted to say _frozen,_ but finishes off with, “ _repressed._ For a _really_ long time.”

In spite of Jessica’s attempts to explain herself, it takes Claire nearly the rest of the walk to get her inexplicable giggling in order. When she does – wiping her eyes on the cuff of her windbreaker – there’s still a hint of laughter in her voice. “Maybe that’s why he and Matt clicked?”

“Maybe? And, anyway, he wasn’t that helpful.” This whole dumb idea was ninety-nine percent Jessica’s by volume of wasted time and stupid.

“Maybe not, but I still might thank him for it.”

“You-” _She-!_ _Damnit,_ Jess isn’t sure _what_ Claire means by that, but – _what the hell –_ They’re already here, and, even with the warmer weather, the place is kind of packed. Luckily, there’s still a table free outside, and it comes with a built-in opportunity for Jessica Jones to catch her breath and get her thoughts organized into something a little more manageable. “You wanna grab that? And I’ll get the coffee?”

It’s not a _great_ save, but Claire smiles, nodding her head back over her shoulder. “I’m good to wait, if you’re sure?”

“Well, yeah, I asked, so…” That’s how these things work. _Dates,_ her brain unhelpfully supplies, suddenly deciding to work just in time to chide her into feeling even dumber because _that’s how dates work, Jessica,_ and she is _not_ going to ask why her inner voice of self-snark sounds so damn much like one of her _coworkers._ Instead, Jess bobs her head, glancing briefly at the line before turning back to her actual factual _date._ “Decaf latte?”

“Half-caf? Thanks.” Claire smiles, and Jessica feels warm, and fuzzy… and maybe the teensiest bit nauseated, but in the good way, not the _about to puke on her shoes_ way, and-

“Yeah, so, I’ll – ya know – be right back.” _Shit,_ she sounds like one of those twits in holiday romance movies, and she fucking _hates it,_ but now she can at least reasonably walk away and queue up. Nobody in the coffee line knows she’s just acted like a brainless idiot for half a goddamn hour. And, crap, at the rate they’re moving, Jessica will have at least another half an hour of non-idiocy because it’s going to take her that long just to get their doughnuts and coffee. It takes more effort than she wants to admit not to fidget in line or snap when she delivers her order. Jessica is unreasonably happy to retreat to the corner to wait once she’s done.

And, while the line might have been long, the orders are coming up quickly. Jess mills with the rest of the waiting patrons, shuffling forward as the people ahead of her peel off from the cluster, edging her way closer to the pickup counter. Almost as soon as she’s within arm’s reach, their order comes up – _“Double dead-eye!”_ – and Jessica reaches for the first cup, stopped only by a nervous voice piping up beside her.

“Um, that’s mine,” a hand reaches to pluck the cup from the counter, trembling over the cup a moment after as Jess turns to look at them. Jessica must be glaring because the stranger quickly blinks and looks away. “Well, it’s for my friend; her name’s on it.”

“Name?” In all the months that she’s been coming here, Jessica Jones is startled to realize she’s never actually _looked_ for any sort of label on her cup, and -

_“Double hot chocolate!”_

\- now that she _is_ looking, she can see that, yes, a name – _SID_ – or at least part of one is written right there on the second cup’s cardboard band in hastily scribbled permanent marker.

“That’s mine, too.”

Jessica is still puzzling over this most recent revelation, even as the second cup is picked up, the short stranger muttering _“hot, hot!”_ as they cram the cup into a drink holder and scurry away, out of the shop and back into the night. If she had _known that_ – if Jessica had been looking for her name from the beginning – none of this would have ever happened. It’s not the first time something that should be minor has upended her life, but-

_“Double dead-eye and half-caf!”_

_\- that’s_ their order. Jess grabs a cup in each hand and walks back out to their table, dropping into her seat as she hands off Claire’s coffee. “Did you know they put names on the cups?”

Claire Temple raises one brow, mouth quirking into a pinched smile that’s quickly hidden behind her cup. “Well, _yeah._ That’s how you know which one is yours.”

“Wh-” Jessica stammers as she sets her cup down. “Are you _serious?”_

“Yes.” Claire spins her cup around so the block capital letters face away from her, so that Jess can see the plainly lettered _CLAIRE_ on the side of the cup; she goes a step further by reaching for Jessica’s coffee and turning it as well. _“See?”_

“Shit,” Jess mutters, chuckling as she takes a sip of her coffee. “I must have been really tired not to have ever noticed.”

“Mmhmm.” Claire nods, and they drift into silence.

She has _missed_ these moments, but hadn’t realized just how _much_ until recently, or even _why_ until two days ago; that it’s been less than forty-eight hours and Jess is already _kinda_ used to it.

“Hm. Guess I should be glad you didn’t notice, though,” quips Claire, and maybe Jessica isn’t ready for this at all, at least not judging by the giddy, nauseating flop in her gut at Claire’s words.

☕☕☕

No amount of lattes were going to make her any less exhausted, even when she switched to fully caffeinated with her second one, but every cup was more time spent on this _outing with Jessica Jones,_ something Claire never expected to happen and something she still can’t quite wrap her head around. But the extra time those second and third and _fourth_ lattes provide let her draw it out a little longer, giving Claire a little more time to come to terms with the veracity of this almost-maybe-a-date. _And to admire how cute Jessica looks when she’s out of her depth._ Claire’s sleepy, but she’s still observant; Jessica has been about a half a beat behind since they left, and it’s as endearing as it is possibly flattering. She’s no slouch, but it’s been a long time since anyone got this awkward over her, and Claire can admit to enjoying it.

 _Too bad it’s about to be over._ Well, for the night, anyway; even with warmth from her coffee and very good company, Claire’s been awake for- _Crap, math is hard, and her brain is fried,_ but she was working last night, and she’s been awake since before that shift started. She might not be able to count the hours she’s been up, but Claire has known the answer was _too many_ since latte number two. Even if she might secretly have enjoyed the idea of it, she couldn’t let Jessica carry her home on their first non-friend-date date, and that means half-stumbling back to her apartment on her own two feet, even if she just wants to close her eyes and sleep. Claire blinks. She probably left her last capable brain-cell back at the cafe table; definitely, given that all she can think to say as they approach her stoop is, “We’re here.”

"Yup.” Jessica keeps quietly ambling along beside her, both of them pausing once they reach the short flight of stairs. Jess sets her coffee on the wide concrete rail and nods up toward the door. “I’ll just… wait for you to get in? I guess?”

“Oh, okay… Goodnight?” Having considered any idea related to their kind-of-a-first-date a non-starter before tonight, Claire has no idea what to do now that their night has ended; the usual post-date thing would be a hug, but that takes two hands. She puts her fourth cup on the wide stair-rail next to Jessica’s second. Debating it for one last brief moment, Claire leans in to hug her; Jessica clearly wasn’t expecting it, and Claire isn’t sure of where to put her arms. It shouldn’t be this awkward, but it’s especially so now because, well, Jess isn’t wearing boots, which is not only a noticeable break from her usual attire, but also leaves her a good two inches shorter than Claire’s used to, and, “I’m- I’m sorry; I’m not used to being taller than you.”

Jess takes a step back from her and huffs, but she _is_ smiling when she looks back up. “Barely.”

“Still taller, and it’s weird.”

“I’m not _that_ short.”

“Wh- No, I mean; we’re _almost the_ _same_ height.” It’s not just a different angle for the two of them; it’s novel all around for Claire, something that hasn’t happened before, and she can’t help feeling like, “One of us should be taller, or it’s weird.”

Jess tips her head in question, eyes flicking from Claire’s face, then down and back up. She snorts. _“That’s_ the weird part of this? Fine, whatever.”

Claire is a breath away from trying to walk that statement back when Jessica steps back up into her space, hands settling on her hips. Strong fingers clench on her waist before Jess lifts her, hoisting Claire up a step, head tipping back as she grouses, “There; I fixed it. Happy now?”

“Yes, but…” Now Claire has to bend her neck so she can look down, which sets her nearly resting her forehead on Jess’ as she fights not to giggle, “This is still weird.”

Jess’ nervous fidgeting is just as cute up close. “Shut up.”

Claire barely gets past the first word – _“Make m-”_ – because Jessica Jones is fluent in sleepy asshole, and she’s already beaten Claire to that punch. The punch that happens to be a kiss; initially tentative, it becomes less so as Jessica joins her on the first step, hugs her closer, parts her lips against Claire’s own.

A shiver skitters through her as Jess pulls back, leaving barely an inch between them, hands still resting gently on Claire’s hips, brown eyes wide and close and temptingly soft; and Claire nearly has to look away as she asks, “Do you want to come up?”

“Um…” Jessica swallows, cutting her gaze to the entryway door. “Do you want me to come up?"

 _Yes,_ obviously; Claire wouldn’t have asked otherwise, and, besides that, “Jess, it’s nearly midnight.”

“Yeah, but I’m, uh… I mean, I’m fine to walk.” Jessica takes a slow step back, the warm press of her hands disappearing as she tucks them into the pockets of her jacket.

 _That_ won’t do. Claire bridges the gap between them, grasping Jessica’s arm and tugging until her hand slips from her pocket. “And I’m _fine_ if you stay.”

“Yeah, but do you… ya know…?” Jess isn’t even looking at her. Head hung slightly, her face is hidden by a fall of dark hair, but she seems to be staring at their newly clasped hands. Gloved fingers clench Claire’s hand as Jessica repeats herself, “Do you _want_ me to stay?”

“Mmhmm.” It’s a simple thing to reach up with her free hand, to sweep Jessica’s hair back behind her ear, to duck that little bit so Claire can look at her directly. She squeezes back. Decision made, Claire starts up the last three steps to her door.

Jessica follows, keeping firm hold of her hand.

☕☕☕

Jess has managed to tiptoe her way back to the bedroom, even with her hands full, and has nearly set the second mug down when Claire stirs in her bed.

“What time is it?”

Claire’s bedroom is devoid of clocks, and the blackout curtains leave it dimly lit even this late into the morning, but, if the time on the coffee maker is accurate, then it’s, “Ten-thirty.”

“Crap.” Claire pushes up from the bed, untwisting her t-shirt and rubbing her eyes. “You… you _are_ …"

“I know…” Jess lets it hang as she passes over the steaming mug, leaning slightly against the wooden foot-board of Claire’s bed. “But, coffee, right?”

“Mmhmm.” Claire grips the mug like a lifeline, her mumbling incoherent but appreciative as she pats the empty spot of bed beside her, clearly expecting Jessica to sit down.

The safer option – and not just physically – would be to keep standing. They might have shared a few minutes of sleep-sloppy kissing before collapsing into Claire’s bed at the cusp of morning, but Jess still doesn’t quite believe that it means anything. She _wants_ to, though, more than she’s wanted anything in a long time that wasn’t coffee, privacy, or quiet, so she perches on the edge of the mattress, nursing her own mug in silence. Jessica doesn’t even jump when Claire leans into her, hair tickling her shoulder around the edge of Jess’ tanktop.

Claire squirms closer, until their knees are touching too, rasping out a string of mumbles that sound suspiciously like, “Do you want breakfast?”

That’s a _thing,_ isn’t it; offering breakfast in the morning? Like, an _it’s real_ thing, as opposed to an _it’s over, now get out_ thing, right? And, even if it isn’t, Jessica is hungry; that’s the only reason for the hopeful twinge in her voice, and she’s going to stop thinking about any other possible reasons. She’s just going to ask, “Breakfast?”

“Yeah,” comes the snark-tinged mutter from her shoulder, “It’s that food you eat after you sleep, like eggs-”

“I know what breakfast is.” It’s not like _every_ word has to have layered meanings, even if coffee is an integral part of it. “Didn’t know you were a jerk in the morning, though.”

“Really? _All_ this time, and you hadn’t figured _that_ out?”

She’s more than ready to snap back when Claire’s fingers slip up along the back of her neck, carding through Jessica’s hair, forcing her grumbling down into a contented hum.

Claire’s words are curious, but still tinged with sleep. “You really did get a haircut.”

“Ye-Yeah… It got fucked up Friday night, and I tried to cut it myself, but that, uh, just… just made it worse.” Those details – like so many over the past few months – are ones Jessica hasn’t shared; ones she still might be asked not to, and she wants to respect that boundary. Claire has been ridiculously clear on setting those limits, and she’s tried to stick to them, but now they’re sitting snuggling in her bed, and Jessica is certain that cuddling up to her is _closer_ to all of the vigilante garbage than Claire Temple has ever wanted to be. Which – _shit_ – that’s it’s own can of worms, isn’t it? Because if this is _a something,_ especially if this is a _regular something,_ then it’s going to get back to her other _coworkers._ Jessica Jones might have been ready for the rejection or a ribbing from the guys, but she didn’t expect to have to figure out how to tell them that-

“Jessica?”

“Huh?”

“If this is going to be awkward-” Claire starts to lean upright, and Jessica tips into her automatically to keep her from pulling away.

“No.” That is clearly a lie. Jessica clears her throat and tries again. “I mean, yeah, it is, but – like – it’s not bad. Just hella weird.”

“Mmm. _‘Hella_ weird.’” The snarky edge is back in Claire’s voice, but she isn’t trying to pull away anymore. “You want eggs? Or muffins?”

“You have muffins?”

“I have muffin _mix._ Unless you’ve got somewhere to be in the next half hour?”

“Naw.” Jessica leans into Claire’s shoulder, tensing only the tiniest bit when the fingers leave her hair, tracing along her spine before that hand slips around her waist. It’s _not_ bad, just different and new, and more than moderately terrifying, but it’s still Claire; that alone soothes her nerves. Jess sips her coffee and closes her eyes, blotting out a tiny bit of the world to enjoy the moment.

☕☕☕

It has been a strange sort of week. Nothing bad, nothing dangerous or deadly or painful, but a whole heap of _different._ Despite that, Saturday evening still finds Claire Temple at her usual counter, picking up her usual order. _Doubled,_ and later than normal, but otherwise unchanged. With the bag pinned by her elbow and a cup in each hand, she manoeuvres out of the coffee shop to where Jessica is waiting on the kerb.

The wide smile that stretches her face isn’t something Claire is used to seeing; it vanishes as quickly as it appears. Jess takes a cup and the bag, fingers brushing Claire’s wrist a moment before the fall into step toward Jess’ apartment come office. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“Have we _gotten_ coffee, Jessica? I mean I brought you a dead-eye, but if you wanted _coffee…”_

“I happen to _like_ coffee.” Jess snatches her cup and the bag, but the action is more playful than anything.

“Never would’ve guessed,” chuckles Claire.

Jessica drops her gaze to her hands, face hidden behind her hair a moment to cram a doughnut into her mouth. Maybe she thinks that will obscure her very obvious blush. It doesn’t, but Claire can go along with it for now.

“You’re on call tonight?” Claire’s not trying to keep up speaking in code, but… While Jess might be the least active member of what the papers have dubbed _The Defenders,_ that doesn’t mean she isn’t _on call_ for random _events_ just like the rest of them.

Jess nods, taking a long sip to wash down the half doughnut she’s still vainly trying to chew. It takes a few steps before she can answer, voice loaded with fond exasperation. “Yu~up… We’re doubled up on baby-bug-sitting.”

“He’s not a _bad_ kid.”

“He can table-flip a big rig. He’d be fine on his own; or – genius idea here – someone could tell him to go home because he can’t even _drive_ yet.”

“You’re talking like getting powers doesn’t immediately suck every sensible brain-cell out of a person’s head.” Or like just being in close proximity to too many people with powers doesn’t often feel like it has the same effect. Claire likes her friends – and Jessica very much is more than just a friend at this point – but that doesn’t mean she won’t call them out for being so recklessly, regularly stupid when it comes to their own well-being. “All of you have the self-preservation instinct of hotpockets.”

“That… makes no sense.”

“Think we just established that _you_ are not in any position to judge sensibility.”

“I _will_ eat your doughnut,” mutters Jessica with a huffy pout.

Claire shrugs, voice flat as she replies. “Hot. Does that come with a side of coffee or a _side of_ _coffee?”_

Jessica snorts, then chokes, laughing and coughing and peaved, dropping the bag as she swipes ineffectually at her no longer clean white shirt. “You are such a jerk!”

“It’s going to get trashed five minutes after your shift starts.” Bending down to get the doughnut bag offers Claire the unnecessary opportunity to step closer to the woman still pouting at her, to let her hand settle in the small of Jessica’s back as she straightens and leans in. It’s hardly a kiss, but Claire lets her lips briefly skim across Jess’ cheek before she steps away. “There. All better, and now you have something to remember me by.”

“Yeah, sure.” Jessica rolls her eyes, taking a further step back, her attempt to keep a neutral expression ruined by a very obvious blush. “Cause you’re just _so_ easy to forget.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Jess is still fussing with her shirt, ineffectually tugging her hoodie zipper higher to try to hide more of the stain. “Luke is going to laugh at me all night over this.”

“He’s on tonight, too?”

“Yeah; because it’s Saturday, so we’re gonna meet at my place.” Jessica’s voice is taunting as she continues. “Matty needs to sleep so he and Steve can be up super early for mass; jokes on him though, since he gets to go with _Danny_ tomorrow night.”

“Steven’s a morning person?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Huh.” Claire tucks that fact away for another day. She’ll be able to ask Matt the next time he shows up in need of stitches or a double finger splint, so… _Tuesday at the latest,_ since Daredevil’s probably the most regular patient out of all of them, tied with Iron Fist. Although, speaking of, “I don’t know why you talk about Danny like he’s such a pain in the ass. He’s polite, kind, a little-”

“A little smarmy shit?” Jess asks sarcastically as they round the corner.

 _“Oh,_ he’s not a cynical asshole. That’s why you hate him?”

“Nobody _hates_ him.” Luke nods his chin, offering a wave from his seat on Jessica’s stairs as they finally reach him. “But he and Murdock keep trying to make us do group training yoga-”

“Yo- _guuuuh.”_

“And some of us-” Luke makes a point of rolling his eyes in Jess’ direction. “-don’t like that idea.”

“Oh, don’t act like you’d enjoy it.”

“I wouldn’t,” he admits, “but I don’t blame Danny. He _means_ well.”

Jessica _humphs,_ but doesn’t argue further. She shrugs and keeps ambling forward, leaving Claire and Luke to keep up.

Luke shoots her a glance that borders on curious. “I don’t get a coffee?”

“Nope.” Claire shrugs and takes a sip of her dead-eye.

Jessica slows and turns, looking back over her shoulder as she asks, “Are we still on for Monday?”

“Sure.” It won’t be until some time after nine-thirty, and she’ll be exhausted. Though, with Jessica’s luck, Claire won’t be surprised if she’s still in better shape for their brunch date. So, yes, they’ll still be on for Monday, “Unless you’re too busted to move again.”

From beside Luke, Jessica Jones only smiles. “Monday.”

Luke looks between them again, offering a quiet, “Have a good shift later,” that sounds distinctly confused.

“Thanks, Luke.” Claire waves them both off and turns back toward her own apartment.

☕☕☕

Jess might have missed most of Sunday night’s impromptu _fun,_ but she and Luke got there in time for cleanup, and Jessica is more than willing to help. If _someone_ will _let_ her. She eyes the slump Matt has propped himself into, continuing to offer the arm he still hasn’t taken. “Claire’s shift started at nine; we can catch her for lunch if you’ll stop dragging your feet and let one of us carry you.”

Matt’s mumbling – “ _I’m fine.” –_ overlaps with Luke’s incredulous question – “ _You memorized her schedule?” –_ and Jessica shrugs, fighting not to roll her eyes. “It just kinda happened, so- Damnit, no-”

With Murdock nearly falling onto her, Jess bends so she can hoist him up onto her shoulder like the sack of shit he often is. Bad enough that they have to keep an eye on Spider _boy,_ Matt _is an adult man,_ and Jessica didn’t exactly sign up to be his minder, no matter what his boyfriends think. But… she can’t leave him to his own devices, either, so, “I’ve got this idiot, just make sure no one’s coming.”

Rand nods, and they start off heading north – Danny ahead, Luke behind, and Jess carrying Matt in between – picking their way through shadows as Matt Murdock keeps rudely bleeding all over her second favourite jacket. _Just a normal weekend._

They reach a corner and freeze as Danny raises his hand; Luke nearly runs into her, but stops just short of tipping them all out in front of the happy family and their ice cream cones. He takes the opportunity to lay a hand on her non-Murdocked shoulder and whispers, “Proud of you finally getting along with Claire, Jess; you actually managed to make a decent friend.”

“Yeah…” _Friends_ at a minimum, but she and Claire can talk later this morning. “Yeah, something like that.”

☕


End file.
